


Für Immer (Eddie x Waylon)

by StormyLemon



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: BoyxBoy, Fluff, M/M, Yaoi, eddiexwaylon, itwontbetoosad, somesad, transferstudent!eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyLemon/pseuds/StormyLemon
Summary: (Eddie Gluskin x Waylon Park)When transfer student Eddie Gluskin arrives one day at Murkoff High School, he runs into a mysterious boy by the name of Waylon. Good thing Eddie liked mysteries, or else figuring out the boy would be a real pain in the ass. In any case, he was intrigued by the blonde male's uncaring attitude towards the world. He was different, and that's what Eddie liked most about him. He wasn't like the rest, he stood out, and he was just the kind of boy Eddie was looking for.Eddie just hopes he can claim the boy before anyone else does.**THIS IS YAOI. IT WILL HAVE BOY X BOY, GAY STUFF SO PLEASE LEAVE IF YOU ARE A HOMOPHOBIC PIECE OF SHIT. Thanks :) I also do not own Outlast or any of its characters. Trust me, if I did, then you'd know XD The chapters are also numbered in German, so don't freak out.





	1. Eins (One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One! I already have nine chapters typed for this fic (all published on Wattpad), but it still might be a bit for me to post them all. Please enjoy and feel free to leave comments! \\(^_^)/

Eddie's PoV  
I stare out the plane window, watching the way the sun started to rise and the city lights started to shut off. The world was a large place, but being up this high in the air made you realize how small the people in it were. I could barely see the cars as they made their way along the small strips of roads, looking like tiny ants crawling on the ground.

We were headed to Amerika. My mother wanted to get as far away from my father and uncle as possible. My fists clench, but the feeling of my mother's small and comforting hand stroking my own made me calm down. I give her a small, weary smile, and the blonde haired woman returnes the sad look, the frown lines on her face making her look older than she really was. I look back out the window, my mother's hand still on my own  
~~~~~~~~~~  
We arrive at Boulder after what felt like forever. Mother wanted some place small, where we wouldn't be noticed too much. She worried my father would come looking for us, and as much as I doubted that he would, I simply agreed with her. She had been through a lot, and I wanted to do everything I could to ease her nerves. We'd both been through a lot, and I was hoping that by moving to Boulder we could get away from all the pain of the past.

Understanding the people here wasn't a problem. My mom had wanted me to be bilingual when I was younger since she had always dreamed of going to Amerika. I grew up listening to her babble about the place, about the fashion and celebrities. I was fluent in English by the time I reached eighth grade, but I never really used it besides at home or online. I never really cared for Amerika until recently. I'd only became interested in the country after hearing about the nature and scenery. 

 

But the thing that made me want to move here most was for my mother. I didn't want to leave Deutschland; it's been my home for all my life. But I knew I couldn't voice my thoughts to my mother, especially not after what happened. She'd finally found a way to protect me, to protect us, and I'd be a terrible son if I told her I didn't want to leave.

Things were going to be very different here, and the thought scared me. My mother told me about the education, and I think it's going to be the toughest thing to get used to. In Deutschland we have different classes for different students based on academic ability. I was in Gymnasium, the school for bright students who were gifted. In the U.S there was only one type of school. I wasn't sure of all the details, but I understood I'd be placed in the equivalent of Realschule. Not too bad, I just hope their education system is similar to ours. I thanked God for me having learned English, or else this move would be complete and total hell.

The airport wasn't much, but I was overjoyed to finally be here after the almost eleven hour long flight. I barely slept at all on the flight, my mind too busy thinking about all the things that might happen here. I wanted to think of all the good things that could happen, but there were always shady thoughts lingering in the back of my head.

"Are you hungry, mein Liebe?" my mother asks, her soft voice snapping me out of my thoughts. I nod, too caught up in watching all the people as they walked by. Boulder was eight hours behind Deutschland in time and, despite not getting any sleep on the flight, I felt wide awake. We had left at six in the morning, but instead of it being 4:00 pm, it was 8 in the morning. My sleep schedule is going to be fucked up for the next few days, but I didn't mind; it wasn't exactly normal to begin with any way. I'd usually go a day or two without sleeping, and when I did, I'd either wake up screaming or crying. I'd never tell my mother what I'd dream of, too afraid of scaring her or making her pity me even more than she already did. I'd spent the whole flight listening to various bands (mainly rock since it was my favorite genre of music) and staring out of the window, my mother sleeping peacefully beside me. She would always comfort me, even when I tried to push her away. It made me feel bad, but I'd feel even worse if she knew how much it really bothered me. It'd been happening for years, but when the police got involved and I was sent to a mental hospital things only got worse. It was a huge mistake, me going to live with my uncle. He wasn't as bad as my father, but the pain was still unbearable.

We talk about what to eat (more like Mother talked about where to eat. I only responded with nods or head shakes) before settling on McDonald's. It was different from the ones at home when we first walked in, though I'm not sure if it's because it was at an airport or not. They didn't have it separated in two different sections (there wasn't a cafe area with plush chairs), and the menu was a bit different.

I order something simple: chicken nuggets with a small fry. My mother just gets a coffee and a simple hamburger. They didn't have as many options as we did back at home, such as the chicken wings or chocolate toast, but I thought it was cool that they served us our food really fast. There weren't any chairs, just the serving counter in the area, so we head back to the area with all the tables that was surrounded by other fast food restaurants and coffee shops.

Sitting down at a two chaired table, I rub my eyes, feeling a migraine form. Probably from jet lag, or maybe the two days without sleep. I've only gotten six hours of sleep in the past seventy two hours. Mother notices my distress, her dark blue eyes giving me a concerned look. "Schätzchen, are you alright?" I nod, letting out a sigh. She offers me her coffee, which I kindly decline. I was already having trouble sleeping, and the caffeine would only boost my headache. I bite into a golden nugget, the food from the plane not having done much for my hunger. I choke a bit, not expecting the greasy, salty taste. It didn't taste fresh, and it certainly didn't taste like chicken. "Eddie? Is it too hot?" Mother's voice worries, the blonde woman panicking a bit. I wave my hand in dismissal, taking a drink of the Coke cola I had gotten.

"Just... different," I say, not feeling too hungry. I hadn't really thought about food being a major change, especially since I was used to eating McDonald's occasionally in Frankfurt. She doesn't look too satisfied with my response, but says nothing more about it. We eat our food in silence, and I already start to feel homesick. How am I supposed to survive in Boulder when I can barely stand the food?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

We take an Uber to the house Mother wanted to rent. It was a two story house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It was in a nice little neighborhood and was remotely close to the high school. My mother wanted an extra room to make into a study for her to keep her fabrics and my sketches. With her being obsessed with fashion, and my own taste in design, she wanted to make and sell dresses. It was her dream since she was young, and it was becoming mine as well.

We'd been planning the move for two months. We'd already had the large stuff moved into the house, and all that was left were things like clothes and small knickknacks. I carry the larger stuff like the suitcases, Mother getting the lighter bags, and we make our way up the empty drive way and into the house.

It felt strange, seeing our stuff arranged as if we'd lived here our whole life. The movers did a good job, but the set up was still a large contrast to our apartment in the city. There wasn't the sound of cars passing by or the amazing view of the city streets from fourteen stories up. It was still a nice place, though. Part of me actually looked forward to living here.

"I'm going to go lay down. I'm beat," my mother says, closing the dark brown door. I nod, not bothering to look at her as I continue to examine the house. The pale gray walls made me feel welcomed, along with our dark leather couch and chair set and all our other furniture. It looked nice, not too harsh on the eye or over crowded. It was important to have free space, but too much could ruin the look. The house was the perfect combination of space and detail, making for the perfect meticulous look.

My steel toe boots make light thuds on the wooden floors as I journey through the residence, my eyes paying keen attention to all the features I passed. The halls looked empty, but we could hang up photos to make it feel more homey. Other than that, the place met my standards with flying colors. "Wunderbar," I mutter, my gloved hands trailing up the banister of the stairs. I ascend the steps, looking around at the hallway at the top of the stairs. Finding what I assumed was my room (it did have my bed in it, after all), I plop down on the bed, not bothering to kick off my boots. My back ached from the ten and a half merciless hours of being stuck in a stiff plane seat, my body practically melting into the mattress. It almost felt good enough to make me fall asleep, but my mind wouldn't let me enjoy any rest, instead deciding to focus on stupid things that happened years ago. Great, as if the bags under my eyes weren't dark enough already.

My fingers reach into the pocket of my leather jacket, grasping my earbuds before pulling them out. I put them in my ears, plugging the cord into my phone. Music will help to distract me, and maybe then I'll be able to sleep. If not, I could dig around our suitcases for some benadryl. Spotify opens up, and my fingers tap on Eisbrechers. Dance With Me comes on, and I close my eyes, rolling onto my stomach. I inhale deeply through my nose, enjoying the comforting scent of ginger and vanilla helping me unwind a bit. Home, a smell I was so used to. The new house smelt like lavender, most likely from cleaning products or some sort of cheap floral spray. Oh well, it will eventually go away. Hopefully, because it wasn't doing anything to help with my headache. I mouth along to the words to the song, it being one of my favorites. Rock music was one of my favorite coping mechanisms, the deep and emotional lyrics mixing well with the guitars and drums to help put my mind at ease. My second favorite coping technique was drawing, whether it be people or clothing. I remember my mother showing me the photos from her and Father's wedding, the way her eyes would light up at the sight of the gorgeous dress she had worn. They sadly had to sell it in order to buy furnishings and pay rent for their first apartment, Mother not wanting to give up the ring, but she could describe every single detail on that dress.

It was an A-line dress with an empire waist and vintage lace, and she pulled it off remarkably. She had a slim build with small shoulders and a narrow waist, and the dress complimented her skinny body. She'd told me all about how she dragged Father to four different bridal stores before finally finding 'the one'. The way she smiled while talking about it made me understand how important it was to her, and from then on it became important to me, too. The details and way it flowed together perfectly made me appreciate fashion, and from there on out I began paying more attention to the small specifics of things.

Meticulousness was something I could go on about for hours. My mother often told me that I could bore someone to death just by talking about the finer details that no one else cared about. I told her she was the same way, and that usually kept her quiet about it for a while since she knew it was true. My father never really cared about stuff unless it had some sort of benefit for him. My chest clenches at the thought of the man, and how little he cared for. He was my father, yet he never acted like it. He was supposed to be the man of the family, yet he was a coward. My fists clench the sheets, my eyes closing shut. I could feel the goosebumps on my skin, the hair on my neck standing on end and the bile threatening to come up my throat.

I eventually will myself out of bed, my migraine making it feel like someone was smashing my skull open with a sledge hammer and stabbing knifes in my eyes. I was used to them, but that didn't make them any more pleasant. I popped two benadryl, sipping on a bottle of water as I made my way back to my room. My boots and jacket come off, and by the time I'm lying beneath the sheets in my white shirt and black pants I'm feeling drowsy. I fall asleep listening to music, the words to Labyrinth soon fading away as I fall into a deep sleep.


	2. Zwei (Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo my lovelies :3 Chapter Two! Sorry things are slow, and I apologize for any errors. I am not a native German speaker (just an American who knows a good amount), so I apologize if my German is incorrect. Please leave comments letting me know what you think (or even to criticize, I don't mind). Anywho, please enjoy!  
> My Wattpad is Stormy_Lemon, so feel free to check out my other stories on there. Bye bye!

Waylon's PoV

The feeling of Lisa's arms wrapped securely around my midsection and the wind hitting my body made me feel free. I loved riding, the breeze on my skin and the rumble of the bike. I was riding a starter cruiser along the city streets, my girlfriend of two years sitting behind me as we roamed the town. It was nice being close to a girl, but even better when she was on a motorcycle. Nothing gets my engine revving as much as a bad ass biker chick. 

We make it to our usual hangout: a small forest area near the mountains. It was the perfect place to just hang out and have a good time with friends. I bring the bike to a stop, parking the Indian 2000 Chief next to my friend Miles' Harley Roadster. He came from a pretty wealthy family, a mom who was a lawyer and a news reporter dad, but he was one of the few people who actually treated me with dignity and some respect, though we both insulted each other on a daily basis. I hop off the bike, helping Lisa down even though she didn't need my help. It was the polite thing to do, and I knew by now that my politeness would be 'returned'. 

I place our helmets on the handles of the bike, not bothering to lock the motorcycle up since it was the shittiest one here. If anyone's bike were to get stolen it'd be Miles', but I doubt it'd happen since the dude was a bit crazy.

"Heya Park! That old hunk of junk still working?" Speak of the prick. He laughs, and I give him a half hug. It was Saturday, August 29th of 2017, and we were trying to enjoy the 'warm' weather while we still could. Sure, it was pretty cold in the fall, but we were used to it. And it usually started snowing in October, so we'd ride around town together sometimes before the place was covered in snow. 

"Yes, your Majesty," I say sarcastically, giving a dramatic bow for good measure. Lisa rolls her eyes, trying not to smile. "You're so pathetic," she says, and I laugh. "That's why you love me," I shoot her the finger guns, making her roll her eyes once more. "Where's everyone else? Did Chris beat them up or something?" Miles shrugs, "I don't think he picks on anyone else besides you, shorty. Maybe if you grew a few inches in height and dick length then he wouldn't bug you." My girlfriend cracks up at this, and I shoot them both death glares. I wasn't small, at least not in dick size. Seven and a half isn't small, right? 

"If only you knew what he had," Lisa laughs, making Miles grimace. "Yeah, well, he doesn't act like it. We're juniors and you're still getting picked on by your middle school bully. If you just changed your name and shaved your legs you'd probably fit right in with the girls." 

"Hey, asshole, I'm not the one always running away from trouble when others get busted. Maybe if you actually tried fighting the guy you'd realize how hard it is" I say, crossing my arms. See? Upshur was a dick at times, and he was in pretty good shape, but he always ran away from things. I may look a bit feminine, but he was the real pansy. "How the fuck am I supposed to fight with him when all he does is call me Piggy? He doesn't bug me anymore," the dark haired boy defends, making me chuckle a bit. He was in shape now, but in middle school he had some extra baby fat. Puberty hit him like a train, and now no one picked on him. For me? Well, my hair just went from Sahara blonde to strawberry blonde colored with natural highlights and low lights and I my face lost its baby fat. People said I looked a lot like my mom, and that the only similarity I had with my dad was his sea green eyes. 

"Can you both shut up? You guys sound like a bunch of bickering little kids," a voice says. "Billy!" Miles says, rushing over to the tall guy excitedly. They embrace, Miles jumping up and wrapping his legs around the muscular body of his boyfriend, the couple sharing a rather heated kiss. I roll my eyes, Lisa squealing at the sight. She was a huge yaoi fangirl, whatever that was. She always commented on my sexuality, asking if I was sure I was straight. Always the same answer of yes, yet she never gave up hope. She was a weird one, but that was one of her best traits. That, and her figure. I lick my lips; How could Miles and William be gay when women were so damn sexy? I couldn't picture liking a guy, the thought was too weird. Who would be the girl in the relationship? Would one of the guys have to talk higher in pitch and act more feminine? And what would you talk about? It was all so weird, but I supported my friends none the less. It was gross, but I wasn't a prick, and if I did voice my opinion I'm sure William would beat the living shit out of me.

"Get a room," I mutter, my eyes deciding to focus on the trees surrounding us. Their leaves were all sorts of golds and browns and reds, covering their branches and the ground beneath them in their colors. William chuckles, finally setting the overly excited Miles down. "How you doing, Park?" He holds out his hand, slapping it against mine before giving it a firm shake. He nearly crushed my fingers in his grip, probably still mad at me calling Miles a pansy two weeks ago. I'd learned my lesson after we 'talked' it out. He basically gave me two black eyes and a swollen lip, and from then on I'd just stuck to insulting Upshur about his fighting skills and looks. Lisa calls him queer and homo all the time, but when I do it I get my ass kicked. Not fair.

"Good, I'm doing good," I say the words through clenched teeth, trying not to cuss him out for squeezing my hand too tight. He wears a fake smile, staring at me with his creepy gold eyes narrowed. Lisa and Miles don't notice though, the two completely oblivious to it as they talk about going to some new cafe next week. "I hear they have good tea too. Billy likes tea, don't you babe?" I hear Miles ask, making William release his iron grip. I gawk at the beast in human skin, cradling my throbbing hand to my chest. What the hell? I swear he wasn't human, just look at those eyes! He's like a freaking demon or something!

We head to a small hill that overlooked a decent sized pond. When it got cold enough we'd sometimes skate on it, and when it was warm we'd all go swimming during the summer. I sit with an arm around Lisa's waist, Miles and William cuddling together as well. We all sit and talk about random things like music and video games. Lisa wasn't really into video games when we first met, but I crafted her into a gaming freak over our two year relation ship. Nowadays our dates were usually just playing CoD together or racing one another in Mario Kart, eating stale potato chips and drinking cheap beer, and fucking for the rest of the night. She was like me: raised in a poor family in a small house, getting by with the help of food stamps and free school lunches, spending her days outside and nights inside either getting wasted or binge playing games. I guess the only difference was that I lived with both my parents, while she only lived with her heroine addict of a mom. I was stuck in the crossfire of my parents' failed attempt of saving their marriage.

They had me five months after getting married, but after four years of being together they realized that they couldn't stand one another. I spent my life from the age of six up to the age of thirteen just living with my mom and her two other sons from two of the many other failed relationships and one night stands she's had. They were both grown now, one nineteen and the other was in his twenties, and neither of them bothered to stay in touch with her. I didn't feel too sad when they moved out and me and my mom went to live with my dad. All we ever did was play video games together and sometimes steal our mom's cigarettes when she wasn't looking. My dad had been gone all those years, only stopping by sometimes on Christmas just so he could give me some random video game, pat me on the shoulder, get drunk, and fuck my mom. He'd always leave without saying goodbye, and sometimes I wouldn't even recognize him. I was nine when he finally decided to come see us since the divorce, and he had given me a baseball bat. I never played sports, hence my non masculine frame, so I was confused as to why this stranger was giving me a bat. My mom had told him I 'wasn't like other kids', and three years later when he finally visited again he got me Mario Kart 64. I played the shit out of that game with my brothers, none of us minding my dad anymore. I was more used to seeing my oldest brother's dad than I was my own, and for the longest time I actually believed that he was my dad. He was a druggy too, just like my dad and my other brother's dad. My mom sure had a type, but none of us cared about the men she'd bring home or go out with. We just sat in front of the tv, controllers in hand with Metallica or some other metal band playing out loud.

When I was halfway through seventh grade my mom decided to hook back up with my dad. I didn't care, I was just excited to finally have a room of my own. Our house (we had been living in a roach infested townhouse before moving in with him) was pretty small, but it wasn't crowded since my brothers had left to live with my aunt. As promised, I got a room all to myself. It was nice, and since I was young, it seemed a thousand times better than it really was. We still lived there, despite my mom barely working and my dad being four months behind on rent and the heating bill. My parents argued a lot, mostly over stealing one another's cigarettes or for staying out late and fucking strangers, but they still lived together. Why they did was beyond me, and I didn't ask since I rarely talked to my dad and my mom was usually either too drunk or high on prescription meds to have a simple conversation with. 

I was a privileged kid. I could drink, smoke, go out late at night, and get in trouble at school without my parents even batting an eye. They either didn't notice or didn't care, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing since I could have Lisa over whenever I wanted, but a curse since I spent most of my time by myself. Another reason why it sucked was because my mom was known as a whore, and, though it was true, it did cause people to pick on me a lot. Bullies didn't bother me, but seeing others my age hanging out and spending quality time with their perfect parents filled me with envy. Lisa understood my situation, and we clicked instantly.

We'd met in eighth grade, and we soon became inseparable. Ninth grade was when we first started dating, and we've been in love ever since. She was crazy; with her random thoughts and dirty mind, but I was the same way, maybe just a bit more sane. She was bisexual, something that I, as well as any guy, drooled over. I may not be gay myself, but lesbians were hot as fuck. Of course it did make her talk about guys fucking other guys, but you got to take the good with the bad sometimes in life. And if I got to fuck a sassy blonde with perverted thoughts and hips for days, then my God am I going to listen to everything she says.

"Want to head to my house and hang out? It's pretty cold out here," Lisa says, curling up against me. I press a kiss to the top of her head, stroking her side with my thumb. "How about my place? My dad's supposedly at work and I don't think my mom is gonna be up for a while. We could play Super Smash Bros.," I offer, not wanting to be around Lisa's mom. The woman was crazy, crazier than my mom, and they lived in a trailer. Nothing against trailers, I've seen a ton of nice trailer homes, but their's was a wreck. Trash and dirty laundry all around the place, barely any food in the fridge, and three wild little heathens that always had dirt on their faces. 

Everyone nods in agreement, Miles fist pumping the air. He liked my house, mostly for all the Doritos and my parents not fussing over us. His family rarely let him eat junk food, and his mom always kept a close eye on him. She was a nice lady, but didn't approve of my behavior, thus making my visits to his house awkward and uncomfortable. She'd always tell us to keep the door open, and she'd scowl at the scent of cigarettes on my clothes. Not like I cared, I'd much rather be at my own home than Miles' anyway. 

William lived with a guy named Rudolph Wernicke (pronounced Vernicke, apparently. He's German or Finnish or something, but we all just call him the Doctor. He's really accepting of William, and he even treats Miles like his own son. He's unmarried and has no other foster or biological kids, only a few cats. He's really cool and served in the army before, but decided that he didn't like the thought of hurting others. He's the Chemistry teacher at the high school, so me and Miles sit next to each other in that class. If William was a junior he'd be in my place, but he's a grade above us. If his 'dad' could put the two together he would find a way to do so.

We hop on our bikes, William on his Vespa, and we head over to my house. As I had assumed, my mother was in her room, loud snores drifting through the house. I nod to my friends, closing my mom's door quietly before heading to the kitchen. "All good," I say, entering the living room with a bag of chips in each hand. Miles runs over to me, "Gimme!" he shouts. I shush him, "My mom's asleep," I say, knowing very well that when she blacks out she usually doesn't wake up for anything. He shuts up none the less, something that my ear are extremely grateful for. I hand him the bag of nacho flavored chips, the dark haired teen eating the unhealthy snack like a starved animal, not even letting William have any. I chuckle, heading over to where Lisa was sat crouched in front of the TV, plugging in the cables for the N64.

I grab the Super Smash Bros. game, inserting the gray cartridge into the N64. It starts up, and everyone grabs their usual controllers. We select our characters, mine being Link (like always. I was a huge Zelda fan and everyone was well aware of the fact). Lisa picks Ness, William selecting Captain Falcon, and Miles chooses Samus. We start the match, and from the get go chaos erupts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eddie's PoV

That evening me and Mother order pizza since we didn't have any groceries yet. It was way different from the many foods we had at Abendbrot, but it didn't matter since I wasn't really hungry. "We'll have to go shopping tomorrow," she says, biting into a slice of pepperoni pizza. I nod, nibbling on my own slice slowly. I wasn't too hungry, but I knew she'd get concerned if I didn't eat. I knew very well I had to eat at least two pieces for her to be satisfied, but at the moment I wasn't sure if I could. 

She watches me silently for a moment, my eyes gazing unfocused at the wall behind her head. I hear her let out a distressed sigh, setting down her half eaten third slice of pizza. She looks at me with troubled eyes, her lips set in a sullen frown. She examines me attentively, making me feel a bit of remorse for upsetting her. I knew she wasn't mad, she never got upset over anything I did, but I still felt bad for making her worry. I've only seen her get furious at my uncle and Father. 

I take a big bite out of the food, washing it down with some normal water. My mother usually drank kaffee with most of her meals (I only drank it with breakfast or if we had cake, and even then I only liked it if it had cream or milk), and I'd usually drink sparkling water mixed with juice or soda, but tonight we just drank tap water. It didn't taste bad, but it was a little weird without the carbonation. Her eyes remain glued on me, and I end up eating two more pieces of pizza in order to please her. "You're 6'2, Eddie. Himmel's willen, you barely ate this morning!" my mother exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. I remain silent as she starts to break down, her hands covering her eye as she sobs. "Mutter-" "Nein! You always keep things from me. Why don't you talk to me anymore? You used to be so excited to spend time with me and talk about your day, but now you don't even tell me how you feel!"

She bawls, covering her eyes with her palms, and I stand up, walking over to her side. "Mutter," I murmur, wrapping an arm over her shoulder. She turns to face me, placing her arms around me in a weak grip as she continues to cry. I can only watch as my mother grieves, feeling immense guilt. After all these years of trying to keep her happy, after all the fake smiles and the denying, I can only stand there, helpless, as she cries. The wetness of her tears seeps through my shirt, but at the moment I don't care about the mascara marks or powder. All I care about is my mother, and how she was suffering because of me. I rest my head atop hers, my eyes staring unfocused at the half empty box of pizza that was resting on the table next to our cups of tap water. All of this was my fault, if I hadn't cracked, if I had just kept my damn mouth shut. Why did I have to dream about it? Why did I have to wake up, screaming for them to stop? Maybe if I hadn't flinched every time I saw my uncle or Father, maybe if I didn't freak out or freeze up whenever she'd mention them.

I clutch her closer to me, muttering apologize, but no sound would come out. I narrow my eyes, feeling hatred. Hatred for my father, hatred for my uncle, but more importantly hatred for myself. I was the reason why we had to leave behind our life in Deutschland. Our family, our apartment, everything. I couldn't even eat without being reminded where we are and why we're here.

My eyes fall shut, my jaw clenching, but my embrace remains light as a feather. I'd already hurt her so much emotionally, and I knew those wounds would never heal like physical ones could, but I would never do a thing to harm her intentionally. I never wanted to hurt someone, but at the moment I felt mad enough to kill, though I'm not exactly sure who I wanted dead the most. A part of me thought my father deserved it, and another part believed it was my uncle who deserved to die. But the smallest part of me wished that I was dead, that I could simply just cease to exist.

It was wrong to think that way, with Mother being very religious, but I no longer could bring myself to care. If God was real, then why would he make us go through this? In kirche they say it's to teach a lesson, but what could I possibly learn from this? That my father hates me? That my mother's suffering is all my fault? Religion seemed futile to me. What was the point in believing and worshiping a vengeful and hostile God? Why spend all your life living in fear of His wrath, unable to do things that bring you joy. Even if I were truly religious, I'd be damned to Hell for what happened to me. I'd read the Bible front to back countless times, and I knew it condemned those who partook in sexual relationships with people of the same gender. I'd be sentenced to an eternity in Hell no matter how many times Mother had me blessed. I was broken, damaged, tainted, and not even God himself could cure me. If my Hell wasn't in the afterlife, then it was in this current existence. I didn't think it was right for me to have to suffer more than once. 

I don't get any sleep that night.


	3. Drei (Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, my lovelies! Chapter Three! So far I only have nine complete chapters for this book (I have like four other stories, and I've been pretty busy lately), so I'll only be posting one chapter per day. Anywho, please enjoy ^_^

The lights are off, but the small basement windows at the top of the walls allow small bits of the late afternoon sun's rays to illuminate the molding white walls. I'm laying on the same hard mattress that was almost too small for me like usual, my hands tied above my head with the same tan rope that my uncle used to tie dead deer to the roof of his truck whenever he'd go hunting. I test the bindings by pulling on them, the tight knots biting into the skin on my wrists, not budge. The basement smelt of wet wood and mildew, a smell I was used to by now, and the air was cold, causing goosebumps to form on my skin. My body wished for warmth, for a blanket, or even just a shirt, but I knew that I wouldn't be warm for a while. Not while I was here, at least.

Yelling would only result in a black eye and sore jaw, so I decide to just lay there silently, my eyes staring dully up at the wooden beams of the basement ceiling while I waited. My uncle usually waited till the sun set and the basement grew colder before coming down here to torment me, but I was unable to fall back asleep when both my body and mind knew he'd be here in only a matter of hours. I hated how much I'd gotten used to it. It'd started of as what I'd thought -what I'd hoped- was just some sick dream. But it wasn't, and soon the feeling of his body leaning hunched over me became routine. 

The sounds of muffled voices and footsteps from upstairs make me let out a sharp exhale, my mind trying to prepare itself for what he had in store for tonight. 

"Tschüssi," I faintly hear the masculine voice of my uncle say, followed by the sound of a door slamming. My aunt was a nurse that worked the night shift, leaving me trapped here in this God forsaken basement, my heart filled with fear and my throat filled with bile. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my uneven breathing making it feel as if someone was squeezing my lungs in their fists. I close my eyes, counting to seven as I inhaled, holding my breathe for eight seconds, then exhaling for six. Repeating the process proved futile, but it was something I still tried everyday in hopes of a different result. Insanity, that's what it is. That's what I got called, but I'm not sure if they meant it as in madness or just extreme foolishness. Sometimes it felt like both...

I listen to the slow and steady footsteps of my uncle as he walks around upstairs, each heavy thud making my heart race even more. 'Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben...' I count to seven in my head, holding my breath afterwards. Yet another fruitless attempt to calm my nerves, but right now it was my only hope to try to steady my heart rate. It felt like someone was pressing on my chest with a heavy boot, something I hadn't felt since I was thirteen. They say time changes things, but things don't seem too different from the way they were before.

I swallow thickly when the footsteps come to a stop, my lips mouthing a silent prayer to God. Please let this be quick, or at least let me black out. I knew my prayers were in vein, but right now I needed something, anything, to believe in. If God was listening, then hopefully he'd let it be fast. 

The door to the basement opens with a loud creak, the noise seeming amplified in my frightened mind. There's silence for a brief moment, my blood rushing in my ears the only sound I hear as I wait for him to walk down the steps and get this over with. The sound of a throat clearing made me open my eyes, but I could barely see anything due to the rapidly decreasing sunlight, but maybe that was for the best.

The slow and deliberate steps start up again, the sound of expensive dress shoes walking down the steps making me jump a bit. 'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...' I count once more, but I was only able to hold my breath for six seconds this time. My chest ached, and my eyes were starting to burn with the sting of tears. I lay there, still as a statue, making my face void of any emotion. People like my father and uncle thrived off of fear and lived for resistance. It was easier to just keep quiet and let them do what they want, to let them just grow bored of you. 

My eyes remain locked on the dark wooden beams of the ceiling, my jaw locked as my uncle's face appears in my line of sight. He was smiling slightly, something my father never did, as he looked down at me, making a 'tsking' noise. He examines me, like always, his dull blue eyes scrutinizing me as I kept a blank expression. On the outside I had on a stone mask, my expression lacking all traces of emotions, but on the inside I was panicking. Biting the inside of my cheek, willing the tears to not fall, my muscles tensing as if they wanted to fight. I could never hit him, though, even if my hands weren't tied. It wasn't like me to hate, to want to fight or hurt people. I couldn't stand causing others pain, but my father and uncle felt different.

"Hello, Edward," his cunning voice speaks firmly, making my hands sweat in nervousness. No matter how many times it happened, it seemed impossible to get completely used to. Every single time felt as bad as the first. I was lucky he wasn't as brutal as my father, but they shared the same cold eyes and strong punches. Another thing they shared was a hatred for people of 'my kind'. 

He studies me quietly for a minute, deciding to deliver a swift back hand to the left side of my face. My head snaps to the right from the force of the hit, my jaw going slack a bit before clenching once more, my teeth grinding together. The bitter taste of blood reaches my tongue, my teeth having bitten the inside of my cheek raw for what seemed like the millionth time. I turn my head back so that I was looking straight up at the ceiling once more, my nostrils flaring a bit as I try to even my breathing. The tears were so close to spilling, but I will them to not fall. My sight remains locked on a certain part of the ceiling, my eyes focusing on the pattern of the wood rather than the steel cold gaze of my uncles pale eyes.

He didn't like how I acted. In his eyes, I was just something he could take his anger out on, an excuse to hurt and hate. I was 'sick', and he and my father both believed they could beat that sickness out of me. And for a while, I believed they could. Now I saw that it was only an excuse, some irrelevant cover up to beat me and make me suffer. He didn't actually believe the beatings and assault could change me like Father had thought, but that didn't stop him from doing the cruel deeds. 

"Still not talking? What happened to your voice? I miss hearing you scream," he sneers, letting out a low chuckle. My mind roared with insults, but I simply bit my tongue, knowing that he wanted me to put up a fight. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of my words; I'd learned from Father that it only made matters worse. The man standing above me was my father's brother, something anyone could tell just by looking at them. They had different hair colors: My uncle had sandy blonde hair whereas my father had charcoal black locks. My dad was taller and more muscular than my uncle, with more defined features and a broader body. What made them so alike was those cold, dead eyes. Pale icy blue irises that seemed to look right into your soul. Many found them charming, but to me they held only hatred and malice. I was reminded of my father and all his tyranny.

"It's funny, how you used to never shut up. Screaming, crying, wailing like a child fresh from the womb," I listen to his sinister voice, feeling both ashamed and annoyed at his words. I hated how they scrutinized me without taking a moment to look at their own flaws. I'd never judge anyone before all of this, but now my thoughts on others viewed them as cynical. The world was not naturally a cruel place. It was the people in it that tainted it. Once upon a time I was pure, like the world once was, but I was tainted. No matter how many times I was told otherwise, I still liked to believe I once was, even if it isn't true. No one can be born bad, can they? 

Thinking about it, about my father, and my uncle, maybe people could be born bad. I was related to them, to these sinful people who found joy in harming others. Maybe I was tainted since birth like they said, but not in the way they think I am. I am tainted for having their blood running through my veins, not for who I am attracted to. Sadly, both were things I couldn't control. I couldn't help who my heart longed for, or the evil blood that coursed through it. All I could do was try to live my life normally, but they kept me from doing so. 

A a few tears slip from the corners of my eyes, the same eyes that my uncle and my father had. The eyes of evil, of hatred, of malice. My eyes close, my mind thinking of all the ways I was impure and flawed. I was pathetic for showing him such weakness, especially when the worst part hasn't even started.

"There we go, such lovely tears. I'd thought I'd have to cut your tongue off for whining and complaining too much, but now I'm thinking otherwise," he gives me a devious grin, his cold eyes making him look insane. He probably is, maybe even more than I am. He leans down so that his mouth was right by my ear, and I could smell the expensive cologne he always wore. "Unless you prove me wrong, that is." He leans away, standing back up to his full height of 5'11. He wasn't as tall as Father, but what he lacked in height he made up for by how terrifying he was.

"I like the way your father thought, Edward," he speaks, placing one of his large hands on my abdomen. My stomach muscles tense, making the man laugh. The deep chuckle echoed throughout the cold and now pitch black basement, making my skin crawl. I have to bite my tongue to keep me from spitting in his face, which was something I'd done my second night here. He wasn't too fond of it, so he'd threatened to sew my lips shut. I knew he wouldn't, not even my aunt knew how to sew or owned any needles, but bloody nose and lighter burning my right arm kept me from doing it again. The burns had blistered up a bit, but after the blackish purple scabs fell off they only left faint reddish marks. 

I hear him rummaging around for something on the cart that he kept by the small bed, but I couldn't turn my head enough to see what it was he was grabbing. When he returns to my field of vision he has a small scalpel, like the ones surgeons used. No matter how hard I tried to hide my fear, my eyes still widened in panic, my arms tugging at the ropes helplessly. He gives me that maniac grin, twirling the small medical instrument in his hand, examining it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. His cold, inhuman eyes refocus on me, moving from my fear stricken face to my chest and navel. "I honestly don't see why you're allowed in Kirche. You'd think they'd ban you for your unholy thoughts and actions," he states, bringing the small sharp point of the scalpel to the skin of my sternum. I swallow, my throat tightening in terror. He barely applies any pressure, scraping the top layer of skin from my sternum to my navel. My body flinches at the cool metal of the tool, or weapon in this case, the action causing the blade to sink in a bit deeper above my bellybutton. He snickers, pulling the blade away a few inches.

"Now, now, Edward. Do you want to get hurt?" I don't respond, instead trying my best to stay as still as possible, though the feat seemed nearly impossible with how badly I was shaking. He seems pleased with my attempt to keep still, giving me a faux caring smile. For a moment I think I'm safe, that he'll decide to just go away. "Good, for once you listen." He pats my head in what would be a kind, fatherly gesture, if my father was actually kind. I let my eyes fall closed, relief flooding my mind as I let out a deep exhale of breath I didn't know I was holding. There's silence, which helps to calm my nerves. 

"Fehler!" he roars, and in an instant my eyes snap open, the feeling of a burning lash to my left thigh causing me to let out a loud shriek. He does it once more, my teeth clamping down on my bottom lip hard enough that it bleeds. My eyes clench shut, my breathing fast and labored, my hands tugging fiercely at my restraints as my body thrashes. The insults fire like bullets, the lashes making it feel as if flames were licking at my skin. It burned, it stung like nothing else I'd ever felt. I'd been burned, beaten, raped, and stomped on, but never before had he actually cut me. The only time I ever got sliced by a knife was when Father caught me with that boy, but this was far worse than the mere shallow cuts he'd caused. I kick my feet wildly, causing the rope around my ankles to bite into my skin. I pay it no mind, not even able to really feel it with the wetness of blood my own blood on my thighs and the unbearable scorching feeling of the lashes. 

He had set down the scalpel, both his hands now struggling to keep me still. My body flails wildly, a small line of blood running down my arm from where the ropes bit into my skin. His hands are pressing on my abs, trying with all his strength to keep me in place. The rope around my left wrist eventually breaks away from the wooden bed frame it was tied to, and my fist flies to his face in an upper cut, the blow causing his head to snap back. He stumbles back, falling to the ground. 

I quickly grab the scalpel from the table he'd set it on beside the bed, accidentally cutting part of my right arm in a hurry to get free of my restraints. I lean forward, sawing away at the ropes around my ankles as fast as I could, hissing a bit when the blade makes a particularly deep cut on the top of my ankle. Once my left foot was free, I start working on my right one, hearing my uncle mumble incoherent words. It was gibberish, that, or my mind was in too much of a panic that I just couldn't process what all he was saying. He comes to his senses pretty quick, getting to his feet before lunging at me with his arms open. 

He attempts to grab me, but I manage to shove him off. I stumble as I run to the stairs, feeling the blood run down my legs. I felt blood on half of my right hand and my side, but I don't focus on that it or the fact that the scalpel was no longer in my grasp. My feet trip multiple times as I clamber up the steps, the blood that was rushing down my legs and beneath my feet making the task more difficult. I reach the top step, my hand fumbling with the doorknob before managing to force it open.

I feel my heart racing, my pulse hammering in my neck, as my body goes into autopilot. My legs carry me to the front door, my mind not even thinking about what I was doing. I'm suddenly in the middle of the road that was in front of my aunt's and uncle's house, standing right in front of a stopped car with it's headlights shinning brightly in my eyes. I squint, tears streaming down my face as I try to block out the light with my hands. There's the sound of a door opening, followed by a loud scream.

I'm suddenly being pulled into the car, my eyes closed tight as my head spins. I could feel the adrenaline fade away, the burning on my wrists, ankles, and thighs making me groan. The pain was too intense, my vision disappearing. I heard the person talking in frantic English. My ears were ringing too loudly for me to hear what they were saying, but I hear them mention something about calling 110. They switch to German after a while, their words no longer directed to me. I feel my skin start to tingle, my lungs struggling to intake air. I was feeling dizzy and cold, the feeling in my feet and hands going numb. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or not, I just felt so exhausted. My head leans back against the seat, my body feeling heavy like lead. I can feel the vehicle start up, my head lulling to the side. It was too difficult keeping my head up, and I was too exhausted to move to a more comfortable position. I could feel myself getting dragged out of the car and onto a stretcher, my eyes blinking open to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be paramedics. It soon became too difficult to even keep my eyes open, and I'm quickly spiraling into unconsciousness.


	4. Vier (Four)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a day late (believe it or not, but when I first started writing fanfic online I'd post a chapter everyday, and sometimes even two), but yesterday I had to pack and move things and I was gone from my apartment from the time I woke up to midnight. Anywho, I apologize if this chapter (and all my previous/future chapters) is shit, I'm not the best writer. I write for the fun of it, and it helps to calm me down. Writing makes me happy, even though I make a TON of major errors and mistakes all the time. I was thinking about posting my other Eddie x Waylon fanfic on here, but so far I only have four chapters writen.. Please enjoy!

I feel shaky hands all over me, stroking my hair and gently shaking my shoulder. "Eddie, sweetie, wake up!"   
I crack my eyes open, feeling the tears continue to spill. My throat hurt like hell, and I finally realized I was screaming.

My gaze darted all around, confirming that I wasn't in that cursed basement, but instead in some strange room. My ears recognize the soft and soothing voice of my Mother, and I can only whimper as the memories continue to plague my mind.

"M-mutter," I cry, leaning into her touch. She gives me a sad smile, the same one that I've grown so accustomed to. She strokes my cheek, "It's okay baby, you're here with me now. You're safe." I stare into her eyes, my own blue ones looking pitiful. I hated how weak I was back then, how weak I still am. If I wasn't such a wuss then she wouldn't have to suffer like this.

We stay there for several silent minutes, my body curled in a fetal position while my mother stroked my hair. This was our morning retinue: wake up screaming/crying, Mother has to come and remind me that it was just a nightmare, then we go downstairs and eat breakfast as if nothing happened. It was unpleasant having to go through the same cycle day after day, but neither one of us would ever admit it out loud.

"Do you want to go out somewhere for Kaffee? I hear they have some pretty good cafes that aren't too far. We could walk or call a cab." I look up hesitantly at my mother, my eyes still red from crying. I give a weak nod, my throat too hoarse from screaming to talk. Her brilliant green eyes examine me closely, her mind probably wondering why she even bothered with me. Why did she even try? I was broken, had been so for four years, and it seemed like nothing could ever fix that.

We leave after getting dressed, Mother in a casual grey skirt with a forest green sweater. Her blonde hair was up in a bun, a lovely golden chain with a diamond dangling gently around her neck. I spent several minutes combing back my hair and getting dressed, deciding to wear a white dress shirt with a pair of black slacks and a grey vest. I splash water on my face, looking dully at my reflection. The jet black hair, pale white skin, and those sinister eyes. If looks could kill, I would've been dead at thirteen. Sometimes it frightened me how much I resembled the man who had caused me so much pain and suffering.

"Ready to go?" Mother asks, and I reply with a small nod. We hear a honk from outside, Mother turning to give me what was supposed to be a smile, but ended up looking like a blank expression. "I called an Uber while you were getting ready. I didn't think you'd want to walk today." I say nothing as we head outside, a shiny black Ford Taurus sitting in front of our house. I open the door for Mother, shutting it and walking around to the other side before getting in myself. She tells the man where to go, naming the small cafe she had mentioned earlier. We drive there in silence, my eyes drinking in the lovely scenery. In the city there weren't many trees or fields of green, but in Boulder there was green all over the place. We lived near downtown Boulder, and there were still large patches of green there.

It was pretty warm outside compared to Frankfurt. Septembers back at home usually ranged from 59°F to 66°F. Boulder had warmer weather, but it there was still a slight chill to the air. Mother and I exit the car, Mother paying the driver in U.S currency before we head into the small cafe.

Upon entering, the scent of fresh coffee grounds and cinnamon filled my nose. It was a wonderful smell, making me realize how much I'd missed drinking the caffeinated beverage. I used to drink it every morning, for Kuchen, and even sometimes for lunch. I usually drank Milchkaffee (milk coffee is the exact translation :3) since I liked a milder tasting beverage, but Mother preferred Schwarzkaffee (also known as Americano, it means black coffee) with only a little bit of creme. How the woman managed to enjoy the bitter beverage was beyond me, and how she managed to sleep without the help of medication bewildered me even more.

"The usual, mein Liebe?" she asks, and I reply with a nod. She was the perfect mother: knowing when I wasn't in the mood to talk and respecting my privacy. She always seemed to know how to comfort me, and I swear she was a psychic since she could almost always tell what was on my mind. She knew almost everything that went through my head, but thankfully not the memories. Just because she was perfect didn't mean I was.

"I'll have one dark roast and a medium roast." The girl at the cash register typed the order onto the screen of the cash register, her light hazel eyes looking me up and down. She stares at me a bit too long, making me shift my weight from foot to foot anxiously. I never liked it when people would stare at me, especially people I didn't know. I knew it wasn't in a rude manor, her eyes actually holding what I recognized all too well as attraction, but I didn't like not knowing what they were thinking. I didn't mind being the center of attention, it's just that it usually ended up in someone trying to get to know me, which resulted in them asking me out, followed with me kindly declining. I played for the same team, but even then I couldn't seem to find myself longing for anyone after what all I'd been through. After being caught with the boy from Kurche by my Father, I wasn't even sure if my heart could love again.

"Thanks," I hear Mother say, snapping me from my thoughts. We head over to an empty booth near the front window of the cafe, Mother placing her large leather purse down along with her coffee. "Could you bring me some half & half?" she asks. I nod, heading over to the small table near the back of the small coffee shop where all the extras were. I grab some half & half for her, adding a lot of creamer and sugar to my own drink before heading back to the booth. We sip our beverages in silence, each one of us too deep in our own thoughts to attempt at conversation. My eyes gazed out of the window, examining the lovely scenery of downtown Boulder as I drank my sweet coffee.

Then I saw him.

A sandy haired man, about 5'6 I'm guessing, wearing a The Offspring shirt with some black skinny jeans. I couldn't see his face too well, but I could tell he was smiling and laughing. He had his arm around the waist of a blonde haired girl that was wearing some red jeans and a Ghost Town shirt (Creepy Girls shirt with the lyrics) and some black original Converse. There were two other men with them, one tall and slightly muscular guy with a bald head that was wearing a plane white t-shirt with some ripped jeans. He was holding hands with a smaller guy that had oak brown hair and a baggy grey and black stripped hoodie and some light blue jeans on.

The door opens with a chime, the group entering the cafe and walking up to the counter. My eyes linger on the strawberry blonde, my blue eyes taking in every detail they could from the way he walked down to the curve in his back. I take in other details, but quickly avert my thoughts, deciding to start some small talk with my mother. I wasn't sure what exactly to say since I spent most of my time just sitting in silence, so I decide on something lame like asking about the drink. "How's the Kaffee?" I question, making her set down her phone, a smile on her face. She and I rarely talked casually, which made me feel bad, seeing how excited she got over me asking a simple question. "Good, though it's a bit stronger than at home. I guess this is the true Americano," she says, sipping the hot beverage. I nod, thinking about how our drinks in Deutschland weren't as strong as the ones here. I'd made the mistake of ordering coffee on the plane, my taste buds having to suffer from the over powered burnt taste of the grounds. This was much better though, and I actually liked the slight increase of flavor.

We converse over nothing in particular, mostly just things about work and school. She talked about finding work as a tailor at some bridal shop. She'd sent a resume earlier in the month, explaining when we'd move to Amerika and all that. They were ecstatic about her abilities and offered her the job as soon as she was available to work. All throughout the conversation, my eyes kept drifting over to the table that was only a few feet away from our booth, the tan haired boy and his group of acquaintances all chattering and laughing over a few cups of coffee. I liked the cafe, even though it didn't serve alcohol, but the boy was the main reason why I enjoyed it. He was facing away from me, but close enough so that I could hear his beautiful laugh. It made me want to smile and let out a laugh of my own, but I retain from doing so. Mother already thought I was mentally unstable, and I wasn't planning on proving her right. I just sipped my coffee and continued to talk about our new life in Amerika.

~*~*~*~*~~*~*\\(^3^)/*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Lisa and Miles drag William and I to the new cafe that they had been gossiping about. Neither one of us really wanted to go, but the other two had insisted. So we all went out for coffee.

"That was so funny," Miles goes on, talking about this one time when Chris Walker had chased me into the girls' bathroom. I roll my eyes, not finding it even slightly humorous. "Come on, it's not even funny," I try to defend myself, but it only makes Miles laugh even more. "It totally was! He chased you halfway across the school screaming 'Piggy'. And then you run into the girls' bathroom? Out of all places! It's fucking hilarious," the brunette continues to chuckle, making me huff. Lisa let's out a small snicker, making me turn to glare at her. "Not you too," I groan, my shoulders slumping. She shrugs, her full lips quirking up in a grin. "He does have a point," she simply states, making me shake my head, but I smile nonetheless. We enter the coffee shop, the small bell on the door ringing as we entered. This place was pretty new, but I heard it was already one of the most popular coffee joints around town. I drank a ton of energy drinks, yet somehow managed to fall asleep at night. That is, if I'm not binge playing video games. What can I say? Old habits die hard.

We head to the ordering counter, my eyes gazing up at the large selection of hot and cold drinks. I decide to stick with a dark roast, not caring too much for sweets. They were okay on occasion, I just didn't like them all the time. We order, Lisa getting a caramel macchiato, William getting some Earl Grey tea, and Miles getting a white chocolate mocha. We find a table near the front of the nearly empty store, sitting down with our drinks in hand.

Tomorrow was Monday, meaning school. My friends all hated it, even Lisa did, but I never really minded it. Believe it or not, but I actually make pretty good grades. I'm even in advanced classes. The lowest grade I have is a B+ in Social Studies, but I'm working on raising it. Other than that I have straight A's. Most of my teachers like me (except for my Biology teacher Mr.Masters, but that's only because he's a major prick), but I often got in trouble for listening to music during school or drawing. I can't help it that I learn faster than others. It gets boring listening to students ask dumb questions. Music helps me calm down, and anytime I have a pen or pencil in my hand and some scratch paper I just can't help but draw. 

"I hear we're getting a new student," Miles says, sipping his coffee (which he didn't need since he was hyper enough as is) excitedly. "I can't wait to meet them. I think I heard a teacher say it was a boy. Hopefully he's hot." William flicks Miles' arm, making the shorter male pout. "Billy! What was that for?" he whines, rubbing his arm dramatically. William rolls his weird yellow eyes, crossing his buff arms over his chest, the corners of his mouth quirked up in one of his barely-there grins. "Why would it matter how they look? No one can compare to these guns," he says in his monotonous voice, flexing his muscles a bit. Miles and Lisa chuckle, "Someone's jealous." I snicker at Miles' comment, seeing William's golden eyes narrow a bit, the muscular man leaning over so that all his weight was on Miles, making the brunette nearly fall out of his chair. "You were saying, babe?" he pesters, making Miles laugh his loud laugh. He was the type of person who could tell the lamest joke and still have you cracking up due to his own laughter. 

Lisa leans her head on my shoulder, the floral fragrance of her lavender perfume filling my senses. I press a kiss to her blonde hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, resting my head against the top of hers. Miles makes an 'aw' sound, clasping his hands together like the fangirl he was while William just rolls his eyes. I laugh, grasping Lisa's hand underneath the table, threading my fingers with hers. We finish our coffees without sharing many words, only small comment here and there breaking the silence. Miles and William say they have somewhere to go, so we all stand to leave. As we're heading towards the main door of the cafe, I look towards the window, my eyes landing on a man, for lack of better words. 

He wasn't just a man, though. He had pale features: snowy white skin, icy blue eyes. His hair was a dark contrast to his light features, a dark inky black color, like charcoal. He was sipping a coffee, sitting across from a woman with blonde hair that was pulled back into a neat bun. She was facing away from me, so I couldn't see her face, but her skin too was pale. My feet trip over one another, and I'm brought out of my daze. I stumble a bit, earning me a raised eyebrow from Lisa and a light snicker from Miles. I glare at the brunette, but my gaze softens as I look back to the male. He had broad shoulders that were clad in a white dress shirt and a grey vest. He looked very masculine, more muscular than William, but in a charming way. My head begrudgingly turns back forward, and I exit the cafe behind Lisa. I wasn't sure why I was so intrigued by him. Maybe it was his aristocratic features, or how he looked out of place with his pale skin. I'd never seen someone with such flawless, glowing skin. And his eyes... 

I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the elegant looking man. Maybe it was his size. He looked pretty tall, even while sitting down, and with those muscles it looked as if he were some sort of Greek god. A shiver went down my spine, probably out of fear. I'd never seen him around here before, but then again I was a bit of an introvert. I didn't know him, and my experience with buff guys has been anything but satisfactory thanks to Chris "Strongfat" Walker. God, I hated that guy. Strongfat is a nickname Miles and I came up with in middle school when he and his two friends, the Twins, would pick on us. Miles was lucky that he developed some muscle through puberty, and he no longer used the nickname for Chris since the bully didn't bother him anymore. I, on the other hand, was still waiting for the same magic to happen to me, though I'm starting to doubt that I'd get any muscle. Lucky bastard Miles, he no longer gets bullied. 

We had walked to the cafe from Lisa's house. Her mom was staying with some random guy, as per usual, so Lisa and I decide to head back to her place while Miles and William went to wherever they said they had to be. Probably just wanted some excuse to be alone, but I couldn't really judge since me and Lisa were going to be alone together as well. 

"Did you see that buff guy when we were leaving the cafe?" my girlfriend asks when we finally reach her house, her manicured hand opening the unlocked door before entering the trailer. We had spent the walk in silence, but I had thought she was just thinking about the scenery or something. "Yeah," I say, kicking off my all black Converse near the front door. I plop down on the couch, leaning my head against the armrest as my mind replays the sight from earlier. Black, slicked back hair that was in an undercut hairstyle. Pale blue eyes, like those of a snow leopard or a wolf. They left me awestruck, shocked that such a color even existed. They put Lisa's own sky blue eyes to shame, something that I never thought was possible. I myself had sea green eyes, but Lisa had the most breathtaking eyes I'd ever seen. At least, up until now.

"Guy looked like a vampire," she says, taking a seat next to me on the old squeaky couch. I sit up, humming in agreement, even though I thought it was a bit rude. He was pale, but he didn't look like some blood sucking creep. Oh well, he was probably just some tourist, that or just passing through. There wasn't much to do here in Boulder. Sure, we had parks and museums, but that was about it. Mountains and nature. We did get several tourists, but most were just old married couples looking for somewhere quiet to go to for vacation. He looked like he belonged in Hollywood, on the front of some modeling magazine. He had a nice, chiseled jawline, and by the way he looked I could tell he worked out regularly. Was he a personal trainer? He was dressed really classy, so most likely not a trainer. A model? Why would he be here? I racked my brain for more ideas, eventually giving up. Maybe he just wanted somewhere quiet to live. Whatever the reason, it was still pretty weird seeing someone like him. Sure, there were jocks and rich boys that went to my school, but they never looked that meticulous. 

Lisa and I end up cuddling on the couch, which leads to some groping, which then turns into a full on make out session. Her skin was soft and warm in my hands, her small moans turning me on a bit. We head to her room, the couch too uncomfortable to fuck on.

~*~~**~*~*~*~*~

I pull up my jeans, sliding on my belt before buckling it. Lisa was passed out asleep, her chest rising and falling with each even breath. I look down at her lovingly, pulling up the plain white sheets over her naked body before pressing a kiss to her forehead. She shifts a bit in her sleep, letting out a content sigh. A chuckle escapes my lips, my hand stroking her blonde hair carefully. She looked so peaceful while asleep, her full lips pouted out a bit as she dreamt. "See you tomorrow, baby," I whisper, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. I exit her room, walking through the dark hallway to the front door, slipping on my shoes before leaving the house. 

I start the fifteen minute walk to my house, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night. The moon was out, a waning gibbous, lighting my path. I pull out my phone, digging my earbuds out from my jean pocket before plugging them into my phone and putting them in my ears. I decide to listen to Five Finger Death Punch, the lyrics of Jekyll and Hide blaring in my ears as I make my way to my neighborhood. It was a little cold out, making me regret not bringing a jacket with me. Oh well, my house wasn't too far away. 

I open the front door to my house, my footsteps silent as I walk to my room. I wasn't sure if Mom and Dad were home, but I didn't want to risk waking either of them up. A long sigh escapes my lips as I plop down on my bed, my body suddenly feeling exhausted despite me not doing anything too energy consuming. Well, I guess you could consider sex, but Lisa was riding me this time. Maybe it's from talking so much. Sometimes I just need a little time to myself to recharge and relax. I kick off my shoes, shrugging out of my clothes so that I was only in my dark blue boxers. My eyes fall shut, my head resting against my pillow. I do a recap of the day, my mind still curios about the man at the coffee shop. Who was he? Why was he here? For some reason I wondered about who he was and what he was like. Where did he come from? Probably somewhere like New York, he just seemed like a city type of guy. And who was that woman? His sister? His wife? The questions circle in my head, making me feel even more tired. My breathing becomes deep, my body feeling heavy as I drift off to sleep. Despite my tired state, one question still lingered in my head...

Will I ever see him again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, about my other Eddie x Waylon fanfic. Should I post it on here? I know I'll probably get judged a lot, but it has Hermaphrodite!Waylon. He's living in New York as a stay-at-home software engineer. Eddie runs a clothing store that is lacking in business. There's a lot more to it, but I don't want to spoil it all. If you have a Wattpad, you can find it on there. It's called Pinstripes and Ties (by Stormy_Lemon). It may have some grammatical errors and all, but if you like the idea, then please let me know. Bye bye!


	5. Fünf (Five)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo lovelies! We thankfully don't have to move too much today, but my mom may come back to live with us, so yeah. I just wonder how long it will take for shit to hit the fan. Anywho, please enjoy! I'm working on the tenth chapter, so I should be posting a chapter a day for the next five days at least (not including today). Feel free to comment, I know this story sucks and stuff, so I'll gladly accept any advice you guys have. Enjoy!

Sea green. His eyes were the color of the ocean, their color so deep that I could just get carried away in their shimmering waters. They were dazzling, a vibrant greenish blue color that complimented his sandy hair and beige skin. At first I couldn't see them, but when he got closer I could notice a slight dusting of freckles on his handsome face. His plush lips were in the shade rouge pink, reminding me of a set of bridesmaid dresses Mother had let me help her make after I'd finally mastered sewing. They looked so soft, but I could only look at them for a short few seconds before having to look away. I didn't want to seem rude or creepy, and staring at the boy would only cause more bad thoughts to form in my mind. I had choked on my coffee a bit when he'd looked at me, but thankfully I didn't show it. That would have been humiliating...

My eyes dart up once I hear the door close, my eyes looking out the window to see him walking hand in hand with the blonde girl he was with. My chest clenched at the sight, a look of disgust forming on my face. "Mein Liebe? Is there something outside?" Mother's accented voice makes me look away from the glass, the look quickly being replaced with my normal blank expression. I've been caught staring at men before, and I knew Mother wouldn't be upset with me if I confessed. Regardless, I remain silent about the boy, hoping my mind would just go back to thinking about other things. "The scenery is just interesting. I was just wondering what the school looked like." It scared me how easy it was for me to lie to her, but that didn't keep me form doing it. It was to keep my thoughts in line. Mentioning my attraction towards men would decimate all chances of me ever becoming normal. It seemed the more I thought about what I was, the less likely it was for me to change. 

She jumps to attention at this, a wide grin appearing on her face. "I have pictures," she says, her fingers typing rapidly at the screen of her phone before turning it to face me, pictures of a large, brown brick building with a rock shaped sign on the screen. The sign read 'Boulder High School' in large black letters. It looked pretty different from the Goethe-Gymnasium in Frankfurt, but then again no two schools looked exactly the same. "I like it," I say, watching as Mother's smile widened, showing off her perfect white teeth. She took back her phone, putting it in her purse. At my old school I took English as a foreign language, along with the other required classes and drawing. 

I used to play the violin, but my father grew tired of the sound after a few months. I still had mine, of course, but it's been months since I last played. The last time I picked the instrument up was before I was sent to the mental institution, it being one of my few joys. It's not that I was depressed, even if the doctors claimed I was, I just didn't have a lot of things that made me smile. The meds they prescribed helped a bit, but I didn't have any left, and we were still waiting for the prescription to be sent to the CVS here in Boulder. They helped me not feel so numb and allowed me to actually fall asleep. For now though, I only had my thoughts and Benadryll. 

We head to the grocery store after leaving the cafe. The store was amazing! They had shopping carts scattered all around the place, and you didn't have to put a coin in the handle to use one. You could simply just grab it and go. Another major difference was that during checkout all we had to do was stand there. They bagged everything without us needing to buy bags or bring our own. 

"I like it here already," Mother hums, putting away the groceries. I nod, closing the sleek looking fridge. The house was quiet afterwards, the same silence that I just couldn't seem to get used to. Growing up, the house was always filled with sound. The TV, Mother's singing, the whirring of a sewing machine, or the occasional melodies I used to play on my violin. There were other sounds, especially after Mother found out. Yelling, sobbing, the sound of shattering glass or the snap of a belt. The silence was foreign, but I would gladly choose it over the sounds of my mother's broken screams any day. Mother turns to me, her dark blue eyes shining with delight. "Tomorrow I'll make some bread rolls and Müsli (idk how to really describe it. It's a mixture of oats, cereal flakes, nuts, fruits, and it is sometimes mixed with milk).We'll have some Kaffee, too! It'll be nice, not as large of a breakfast as usual, but it'll be enough for just the two of us." Mother's words were rushed, her hands clasped together in front of her. "Well, maybe I'll make more food. I don't think American schools have pausenbrot," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. I nod, not really caring. My appetite wasn't what it used to be after getting out of Murkoff Mental Institution, so the only real meal I ever got excited for was coffee and cake time due to my sweet tooth. It was the equivalent of tea time in Britain, but I wasn't sure if Americans had something similar to it or not. My mother must've been reading my mind, her grin widening. "And when you get home from school we'll have Kaffee und Kuchen(coffee and cake)!"

I actually felt a bit excited to be going to a school here in the U.S. Sure, I'd be going to different classes (instead of the teachers moving around) and meeting new people, but it all seemed so... thrilling. Not like back in elementary school where I'd get a schultute (a big cone made out of paper that is filled with gifts) and a new backpack, but it was close. I wasn't as excited for going there, but more for being away from my old school. The people were mostly nice, there were maybe one or two kids who'd avoid me, but I often got in trouble for not showing up to school. Homeschooling is illegal in Germany, so I was forced to go to school while dealing with my mental issues. It wasn't anyone's fault but my own. My mind would start thinking, start remembering, and then I'd freak out. Full on anxiety attacks complete with crying and difficulty breathing. After seeing a shrink for about nine months and taking my prescriptions, I felt better. The only bad moments were when I'd think of what happened, or when I had night terrors. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it, but it doesn't affect me as bad as it used to. Moving here was like a breath of fresh air: I could finally breathe again without worrying about the polluted air of my old home invading my lungs. 

My father was in prison. I always had to remind myself of that. My uncle ran away before the police could catch him. They say his wife might have helped close up his wounds, and when police went to investigate the house they found it void of all life. It made my stomach twist just thinking about how my aunt wanted to help him. They say that love can make you do crazy things, and I've seen enough of what 'love' can do to know this is true. My mother, my aunt... I just hope that I don't fall for some maniac psycho. That is, if I'm not the one that's crazy.

~*~*~*

Hot showers were a blessing. Father would scold me for spending longer than twenty minutes bathing, but sometimes the nearly scalding stream of the shower seemed to be my only escape. My mind was able to relax with all the steam swarming around me, cloaking me in a hot mist. I enjoyed being alone, but Mother spent most of her time at least in the same room with me.

She was afraid to leave me alone. My therapist had told her about some of the things I'd said to her, the brunette woman saying that I was a 'risk' to myself. I spent the next two months not even able to go near a kitchen knife. I wasn't suicidal; I'd just told the shrink that sometimes dying just seemed way easier than living. 'Hopelessness and helplessness are all feeling rape and abuse victims feel,' the young woman had told me, typing away at her computer. Every time I'd see her I'd have to answer a list of questions: How are you feeling? Are you having any suicidal thoughts? Are you having any thoughts about hurting yourself or others? How much sleep did you get last night? What are you thinking about right now? Have you tried out any of those coping skills we worked on last time? And, as always, I'd be honest. That's probably why it took me so long to get dismissed from therapy. It would've taken me half the time it did if I had just lied. Mother tells me it's good that I told the truth, but in reality it doesn't feel like I got any help. All therapy did was make me cry and remember, all just for a handful of coping skills that barely even helped. The meds did most of the job, but I wasn't about to tell Mother that she wasted her money for nothing. If it gave her peace of mind, then so be it. There's nothing I can do to get that time back.

My head slumps forward, the hair at the top of my head obscuring my vision a bit. I close my eyes, placing my hands on the shower wall in front of me, my muscles relaxing under the steady stream of water. It was about nine thirty, meaning I'd been in here for over twenty minutes. Mother didn't mind, which was a blessing since I enjoyed long showers, but right now I just wanted to lay down and sleep. And by 'sleep' I mean lay awake for hours, staring at the patterns in the ceiling while I wait for the sun to rise. It wasn't annoying, just boring, and it left me tired the next day, yet still unable to sleep.

"Night, liebe," I hear mother call from the bottom of the steps, and I say good night as well. My new room still seemed like it belonged to a stranger, but I was happy to see it nonetheless. The bed was calling my name, but I put on a pair of boxers and popped a Benadryl before lying down. I put in my earbuds, deciding to listen to Bon Jovi. Living on a Prayer comes on, one of Mother's favorite songs, and that's when the water works start. I'm not even sure why I was crying, it just happened. Mother would always sing when I was little, back before any of us knew what I was. Once she found out about Father's abuse she went silent. I got to enjoy her singing for three years after Father started the abuse, the beautiful sound of her voice making the beatings bearable. I knew that once she found out she would quit singing, and I didn't want her to stop, so I never mentioned any of the things he did or said. When she found out ten months ago... Her singing stopped. It was as if her voice was my happiness, and without it the harshness of reality was finally able to sink in. I longed to hear her sing, even if only for one more time, just to know that she was happy. 

The Benadryl thankfully puts me to sleep thirty minutes later, but it isn't enough to keep away the memories of the past. 

~~*~*~*~*~**~*~

 

A buzzing wakes me from my dreamless slumber, the sound of my alarm making me roll over with a sigh. I wasn't against mornings, I was just against waking up early. It only takes a few minutes to line my eyes slightly with eyeliner and straighten my unruly tan hair. Metallica was blasting from my phone, the song Mama Said currently playing. I'm ready and out the door by 7:50, barely making my bus. The school got mad whenever me or one of my friends would ride our bikes there, which was stupid, so I had to take the bus. If it weren't for the two cups of coffee I chugged in five minutes I'd be falling asleep by now. Miles warns me about getting kidney stones, but I'd rather have bad cramps and get passing grades than fall asleep and fail. 

My earbuds were blasting some heavy metal playlist from Spotify, a song called Spring playing. It was in some other language, but the rough voices and melodic instruments sounded cool. I look out the window, my eyes half lidded as I think about how boring this year has been. I'm a Junior, and next year is going to be just as boring as this one. At least I had Lisa and my friends. I don't know what I'd do without them. Would I even be here without them? They've all helped me through so many tough times. Life at home isn't bad, and Dad buys food and somehow manages to keep the house, but it just doesn't feel normal. Is it normal to walk in your own home and find your mom passed out or doing heroin? It isn't as bad as it was when I was younger, back when I'd find her laying naked in her own vomit or with some guy sitting next to her in bed. I shake my head, forcing my mind to focus on the music I was hearing and the blur of green that was passing by.

"Hey man!" Miles calls, running over to me. William wasn't too far behind him, walking side by side with Lisa. I give my girlfriend a peck on the lips, one of my hands snaking around her waist as I breathe in her perfume. "'Sup guys," I greet. "Nothing much. Have you seen him?" Miles rushes out, his eyes wide with excitement. "Who?" I ask, making him roll his eyes. "The new kid. Glooskin, Gluckson, something like that. Have you seen him?" We rarely got any new students around here, so the school was always buzzing with gossip whenever we got any. I shake my head, looking around. The halls were nearly empty, and the students that were here were all the same faces I've been seeing since elementary school. My brunette friend frowns, looking around himself. "Huh, maybe he's still on the bus. I wonder what he'll look like," he rambles on, his brown eyes looking forward unfocused as he goes deep into thought. William puts an arm around his waist, walking his boyfriend towards where their lockers were.

Lisa turns to face me, her hand that wasn't holding her books taking hold of my own. She smiles at me, her slightly crooked teeth outlined in hot pink. "See you in fourth period," she murmurs, leaning forward to give me one last kiss before walking away. I'm left standing there, staring after her with a dorky grin on my lips. We only had one class together, fourth period, so I only really saw her at school during lunch and passing period. I had Biology first period, Language Arts second period, American History third period, Calculus fourth period, then Orchestra fifth period. All my stuff for Biology was in my backpack, so I go ahead and walk to the class.

Miles was sitting in our usual seat near the back of the room, and I briskly walk over to him. He waves, though his brown eyes don't bother to look up from the screen of his phone. Probably texting William. I roll my eyes, dropping my back to the floor before taking my seat. The rest of the class started flooding in, everyone chatting loudly like usual. The bell rings, and William's step dad, Mr. Wernicke, walks in. 

"Hallo, class," he greets, his thick accent still present as ever despite him having lived in America for the past ten or so years. A few of the students murmur tired hellos, the rest (including Miles and me) remaining silent. He pays it no mind, his blue eyes scanning the class for a split second before marking off attendance on his clipboard. He's been working as the Biology teacher for quite some time, and I was convinced that he had eyes on the back of his bald head. I had learned that he could be pretty pessimistic at times, but he was still a cool guy. If I didn't know any better I would've thought that he was somehow actually related to William Hope. 

He jots down the daily question: What is the gene combination for a trait called? I scribble down genotype in my science notebook, Miles leaning over my shoulder to check my answer. I raise an eyebrow. "What? Just checking," he mumbles, writing genotype in his barely readable chicken scratch handwriting. I roll my eyes, resting my head in the palm of my hand. Class goes on rather boringly, until the classroom door swings open.


	6. Sechs (Six)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO! I actually went to bed early (at one!), but still woke up late. Anywho, feel free to comment, and enjoy!

Mother made a somewhat large breakfast as she had promised. We had brötchen (bread rolls) with honey, müsli, and coffee. We ate in silence, the usual morning ritual. After breakfast I showered and got dressed, brushed my teeth and styled my hair. I was wearing a black Lacrimosa shirt with some black jeans and my black leather combat boots. Mother and I took an Uber to the school, my leg shaking the entire ride, my mind racing with anxious thoughts. 

The school was large. Upon entering I could already tell that their school colors were purple and gold, and I think their mascot was a panther. Mother talked with the receptionist lady at the front desk while I stood there quietly, my eyes taking in all the awards and pictures that hung on the main office walls. One of the posters handing up said 'A Place for Everyone'. Hm, must be the school motto. I feel Mother tap my shoulder, making me turn to look at her. "Here are your things, liebe," she says, handing me an agenda along with a piece of paper. "It's your schedule. First period started about ten minutes ago, so you can go ahead and go to Mr. Wernicke's class," the secretary explains. Wernicke, it was a Deutsche name. Mother gives me a small smile. "You'll be riding the bus from now on. The people at the bridal shop wanted to interview me in person, so I might not be at the house when you get out of school. Call me if you need anything," Mother says, making me smile. I was happy she was going to be able to finally fulfill her dream. With that, she exits.

"I'll walk you to your class since it's too late for me to call someone down here. Your locker is right next to Mr. Wernicke's room, so if you need to put anything in your locker you can do so." The middle aged woman walks over to the double doors that lead to the main lower hall of the school. I follow her, shrugging my brown leather backpack up higher on my shoulder. We head up the stairs, making a few turns until we finally reach the room. 

It was as if a giant spotlight were shining on me. Heads swiveled around, about twenty pairs of eyes moving to stare at me. They gawked at me as if I were an alien, something I was sadly use to. It's as if they've never seen someone with good hygiene before. Women thought I was some sort of model, when in reality I wasn't even close to perfect. All it takes is some decent clothes and deodorant and suddenly you're the most attractive person ever. 

"Ah, Gluskin! I was wondering when we'd get to meet you!" the teacher, a pale man with blue eyes and no hair, says in a worn Deutsche accent. He outstretches his hand, and I shake it firmly. He gives me a wide grin. "Class, this is our new transfer student Edward Gluskin." Their stares were intense, making it feel like there were forty needles pricking my skin. My hands felt sweaty, my eyes not daring to look anyone directly in the eye. Why was I excited again? Right now I just wanted to go home and be with Mother. Mr. Wernicke claps me on the back, gesturing to an empty seat in the middle of the class. I waste no time sitting down, placing my leather bag on the ground beside my desk. The stares didn't stop, if anything they only increased in intensity. The sounds of hushed voices whispering excitedly filled my ears as if there were dozens of bees buzzing around the room. Again, I try not to pay them any attention. Mr. Wernicke continues to smile, his pale blue eyes staring at me as if I were the most famous person in the world.

"Edward here is from Deutschland! I bet you guys are all curious to hear about what it's like in our motherland. Any questions for Mr. Gluskin?" Hands shoot up instantly, most of them with manicured nails and rings on them. I look around, swallowing the nervous lump that had formed in my throat. Wernicke nods at me, and I curse whatever God there was for making me be the center of attention. It was the last thing I needed right now.

My eyes roamed the classroom, landing on a girl with bluish black hair and green eyes. She had her fingernails painted black and had on some skull rings. I nod to her, and she lowers her hand. "Are you single?" she asks, and it takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes. Wernicke laughs along with some of the guys in the class while several girls stare at me intently. I let out a slight chuckle, shaking my head. It was humorous, despite how embarrassing the question was. What do I say? 'The right guy hasn't showed up yet.' Or perhaps 'My father made me too scared to even feel slightly attracted to someone, so I'm stuck forever alone.' I guess the real answer as to why I'm single is because I have too many issues. The people at the mental hospital said I was, and my uncle and father made me feel like I was insane. 

I decide to say something vague, not wanting to give anyone a reason to bully me. I could easily beat anyone in this room in a fight, but that didn't mean I wanted to. What I did to my uncle was in self defense, and even that made me feel guilty. "Yes. I guess I haven't found the right person yet," I say in a polite tone, watching as her mint green eyes lit up with a shimmer of hope. If only she knew...

"Next person!" Wernicke says, his eyes scanning the class. He points to a kid in the back with brown hair and mocha eyes. My eyes widen slightly when I see who he was sitting next to. The strawberry blonde from the cafe was right next to him, his wide sea green orbs staring at me in astonishment. I give him a small smile before looking back to the brunette. The kid lowers his hand, a crooked grin on his face. He wasn't that bad looking, and he was dressed in some expensive brands. His parents must've been rich, doctors or lawyers I assume.

"Why'd you come to Boulder? All we have are mountains and trees." His question earns a few snickers from the other students, which makes my hands sweat slightly more. It wasn't that I was shy, I just didn't really like telling people to much about myself. How would I explain the reasons why I moved here with Mother? 'I nearly killed my uncle, who molested me when I had to stay at is home after getting out of the mental hospital. Did I mention that my father raped me as well? Or that my mother can't even enjoy her life because of me? I moved here because I wasn't smart enough to hide all that had happened.' 

"My mother wanted somewhere quiet to live," I say carefully, making sure that my small polite smile stayed in place, my blue eyes boring into his own brown eyes. His crooked smile quickly fades away, his expression turning a little nervous. My eyes narrow slightly, and I finally turn away after several seconds. As much as I'd just like to sit still and be quiet, Mr. Wernicke had other plans. "So, what part of Deutschland are you from, Edward?" he asks, pronouncing his 'w's as 'v's like we do back in Germany. He also pronounced my name as Eduard, but I pay it no mind. "Frankfurt," I respond, the old man nodding. "I knew you looked like a city boy. I'm from Berlin." He didn't have to tell me for me to know, his dialect having a rougher sound than my own. It made me wonder how long he'd been living in the U.S.

The rest of class went by without anymore questions or comments directed to me, though the feeling of eyes on the back of my head never went away. My next class was Language Arts, with Mrs. Cole. I stopped by my locker, putting up my backpack and some of my empty binders that I'd reserved for my other classes. Voices were murmuring, and the same feeling of being watched washed over me. I shot a few sideways glances to the people in the hall, some of the faces smiling while the others looked frightened. My face was a mask of stone as I made my way to the classroom, the same mask I'd worn for the past four years of my life. It wasn't that I hated people (though Mother thought I did), I just hated questions. Especially personal ones. The last time I let someone get close to me we got caught by Father. 

"Edward? There you are," a short, twiggy lady with a mousy look called out, her black heels making light tapping noises on the ground as she approaches me. Her smile showed off her straight, bright teeth, which were framed with thin pink lips. She outstretches her hand, and I shake it firmly. "I'm Mrs. Cole. Today we're going to be talking about a book the students have been reading. You can join in on the discussion if you want, but if not, that's fine. You can pick one of the seats in the back row of the class." Her voice was high pitched, making her sound like a teenager. I simply nod, flashing a small smile before entering the class. A seat in the back row... I decide on the seat to the far right, hoping that no one sat there already. 

The book she was carrying in her hands was To Kill A Mockingbird, a book I was very familiar with. I'd read it several times, but I preferred reading books that I chose to read alone. The book I was currently reading was Das Parfum. It was an interesting story, albeit a weird one, and I enjoyed getting trapped in its plot, only to be taken deeper into the story page after page. I blamed Mother for my love of reading, the woman having made me learn how to read just at the age of three. She had many old books that she'd read over and over again, and it always fascinated me how so many ideas and stories could exist. I myself wasn't a writer, but I found literature very compelling.

The classroom was inviting. Three of the walls were a honey orange color, the fourth one a navy blue. The floor had a charcoal and iron colored checkered pattern. There were large, framed posters advertising books hanging up all around the room, along with other neat little decorations. There was only a small handful of students already in the room, the teens separated in two small groups. One of the groups sat in the front, mainly girls, while the other clique sat more in the center of the room. A few of the people from the first group shot me some looks, but they were more so curious gazes than the judgmental ones I was so used to. 

My fingers flipped through the yellowed pages of the novel carefully, the book having been my mother's. I was a bit too caught up in the the mystery that I didn't even notice that the rest of the class was here, or that the bell had rung. A smoky scent soon filled my senses, making me look up from the aged book, my blue eyes wandering to my left. It was the boy from earlier, and the scent of sandalwood and faint cigarette smoke was emitting from him. He was sitting pretty close, so close that I had to glance back down at my desk to keep him from noticing my staring. His strawberry blonde hair was obscuring my view of his face, but I knew it was him from his exotic hair color and the fact that he was scribbling onto his paper with his left hand.

What was he writing? I very rarely questioned things, my mind either already knowing the answer to something or just not caring enough to ask questions. But this boy piqued my interest, and had my mind asking as many questions as it had the first time I'd read Das Parfum. For instance, I wondered what his name was. James? William? Greg? I had no clue, but that didn't keep me from guessing. Not something too masculine, since his body was on the curvy side like a girl's. Brian? Mike? I didn't have to keep guessing for long, since the teacher went and said it for me.

"Waylon?" Mrs. Cole asks, holding a clipboard in her hands. The boy snaps his head up, saying a quiet 'here' in soft, silvery voice. Had she been calling names this whole time? I really should try to pay attention if I wan't to make passing grades. My pale fingers gently close my book, my attention focusing on the teacher despite the urge to turn and watch the quiet male. She goes down a list of names, all of them sounding new to my ears. She grabbed a black dry erase marker once she was done with attendance, her right hand writing something down on the whiteboard. 'How would the story be different if it were narrated from another person's perspective? Who's perspective would you like to read about?' 

The reddish-blonde haired boy, Waylon, closes his notebook, pulling out a piece of loose leaf paper from a binder. He flicks his hair out of his face, but I resist looking at him. Instead, I get out my own piece of paper, writing down my name and answer in my neat cursive that I inherited from Mother. I set my pencil down, and Mrs. Cole asks what people wrote down in response to the question. I spend the rest of class sitting silent, pretending to pay attention, though the only thing on my mind was the short strawberry blonde that was sitting next to me. 

Waylon... How did I not guess that name?

~*~*~*~*~*~

My third period class was Calculus, and I had lunch straight afterwards. The mysterious boy sadly wasn't in my third period class, but I did end up talking with some football players and several girls while in that class. I was currently walking to a rectangular table near the center of the cafeteria, most of the seats filled with buff jocks. They shoot me bright smiles, the tallest guy, Chris, gesturing to the seat next to him. Most of them had their elbows on the table, something that irked me, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I give them all a curt nod, plopping down in the seat next to the large guy. He was the only one here taller than me, a stunning 6'9, with dark blue eyes and a bald head. He punched my shoulder, letting out a booming laugh.

"Eddie! I told you guys he'd stop by," he says in a gruff, hoarse voice. My eyes scan the table, examining the people. There was Chris, Jeremy (he was also in Calculus), a guy with brown hair and green eyes, Dennis, and two twins. They weren't too clean looking, except for Jeremy, but they were willing to talk to me, and that was all I needed. I usually kept to myself at my old school, at least, after middle school. Before then I'd spend time with Phillip- the boy I'd got caught with by Father. After that... 

"What school did you come from?" the one with brown hair and green eyes asks. I run a hand through my strip of hair before replying. "Goethe." The man stays silent, chewing loudly on his cheeseburger. The others, except for Walker, give me the same blank look. I clear my throat, feeling as if I were ten time smaller underneath their scrutinizing gazes. "I come from De- Germany," I clarify, making the confused looks go away. Chris laughs. "Couldn't you tell he was foreign? You have a neat accent, Gluskin. Chicks dig deep voices," he says, shoving a few of the school lunch fries into his mouth. I stare down at my blue plastic tray, my hands unwrapping the hamburger from its silver wrapper. I take a bite, the thing tasting bland and slightly cold. Different from the lunches I was used to. There wasn't even a lot of food on my tray, but I guess it didn't matter since I wasn't too hungry. 

"Are you gonna join the team?" Jeremy asks, the only one at the table who wasn't eating anything. I look to Chris, wondering what exactly he was talking about. "Football," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're in real good shape, and you seem like a cool guy. Definitely better than Billy." I wanted to ask who Billy was, but the clenched jaws and irritated looks of the rest of the group kept me from uttering a single word. I didn't have to though, since Jeremy went ahead and explained. 

"That faggot went and left us for the two freaks," he says hatefully, banging a well groomed fist on the table. Chris and the others glared, some at their food, others looking behind me and Chris. Freaks? That was harsh, but I'd seen enough in this world to know that humanity was far from perfect. So I turn around, but it's not the sight of freaks that meets my eyes.


	7. Sieben (Seven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo my lovelies. Eddie's basically a little cutie in this chapter (isn't he always?), but Waylon doesn't know it yet. Thanks for all the comments :3 it really brightens my day (or morning, since I just woke up about twenty minutes ago). Anywho, about my other Eddie x Waylon fanfic. I will be posting chapter one on here later today, so feel free to go check it out and comment whatever. You could probably tell me to jump off a bridge and I'd still get excited for the comment. Please enjoy!

Anxious. Scared. Intimidated. All of these emotions swam through me as I made my way to my lunch table, my green eyes staring down blankly at the shiny wrapper of my burger. That was the new kid? As in, the person who would be going to my school for the rest of this year and the next?

He was tall. The second tallest person at my school, the first being Chris Walker. Edward... That's what his name is. Edward Gluskin, the buff guy from Germany. The one with broad shoulders, strong muscles, and jet black hair styled in an undercut. The one who looked like he belonged on the front cover of a magazine, and worse, like he could knock me out with a single hit.

Miles let's out a loud groan, slamming his notepad down on the table. "Way! Are you listening?" I hadn't even realized that I had sat down, or that my two closest friends were both giving me concerned looks. I roll my eyes, picking up my burger. "Yeah, you were talking about the one thing," I offer, making him let out a groan. "You're hopeless, Waylon. How does Lisa put up with you? As I was saying..." Miles goes on about whatever it was he was talking about, my mind too busy thinking about random stuff to keep up with his rambling. The 'cheese'burger was bland, as usual, but I was hungry and didn't want the school counselor to call me anorexic again. I nearly choke when I hear Miles utter out the name of the new kid.

"Park, are you alright bud?" William asks, his yellow eyes looking at me in slight concern. He barely showed any expression, and was usually a douche to me, but I could tell he was genuinely worried. I was usually the friend that comforted everyone, not ever talking about my own feelings.

"Guys, I'm fine. Just tired," I mumble, handing Miles my orange juice. He takes it excitedly, his attention now focused on the drink instead of me. William examines my face for a few more seconds, my eyes downcast as I try to focus on the cold school lunch instead of his blue eyes on me. He eventually looks away, turning to talk to his boyfriend.

But the feeling of eyes is still on me.

I look to Miles, the brunette giving William heart eyes, the two too focused on one another to notice my gaze. If it wasn't them, then who was it? I hated when people stared at me from a distance, unless it was one of my friends. I'm used to judgmental looks, whether it be from the nose hoop or the way I dress. It aggravated me, knowing that the world, this school in particular, was filled with a bunch of judgmental bastards.

Now that I think about it, it's probably the jocks that are staring. Ever since William came to sit with us, they've been giving us dirty looks. They did before, but the ex-football player sitting with the two school freaks only seemed to make the glares increase in intensity.

And what are two- now three- freaks to do when they're getting glared at? We glare back. I look past Miles' lovey dovey expression, my eyes narrowed as they search for the table full of pricks. I wasn't surprised to see the hate-filled glares of Chris and Jeremy, but the soft, curious expression of the new kid made my eyes widen a bit. No, no. He can't be sitting with those jerks. I may not know him, and I haven't talked to him at all, but I can tell he's different. He's not like them; he's polite and quiet and clean. His looks put even Jeremy Blair's clean looks to shame, and that guy spent practically every waking moment worrying about his appearance.

I turn my head the other way, unable to handle their intense gazes. Miles was now going on about some new video game, William looking uninterested (he preferred old school classics. If you asked him if he'd rather play Breath of the Wild or the Legend of Zelda for the NES he would choose the later without any hesitation. I enjoyed both old and new games. It wasn't about graphics or even game play, I just liked video games based on their story line. Lame, I know.

We take our trays up, sitting back down in silence. I decided to text Lisa to pass the last few minutes of lunch, my girlfriend replying after a few seconds.

Me:hey babe. How're you holding up?

♡Wifey♡: good, hbu?

Me: Good. Miles keeps eye fucking William tho -_-

♡Wifey♡: YES ALL THE GAY!

♡Wifey♡: is someone jealous? XD

Me: of a bunch of homos? If I wanted to look at a bunch of fags I'd just buy a box of cigarettes.

♡Wifey♡: mhmm sure. i can so picture you being at least bi

Me: If I were bi then why would I be dating you? And there's no way in Hell I'll ever act like a girl :(

♡Wifey♡: you can still like girls you idiot -_- and who said anything about acting like a girl? Does Billy act feminine?

Me: Whatever. See ya in Calculus

♡Wifey♡: bye bb

I pocket my phone, the staff dismissing the juniors. Miles and William walk with me out into the main hallway, but they sneak off to the bathroom once we reach the upstairs of the school. I can't help but roll my eyes, wondering how they never got caught. Well, except for the two times I caught Miles giving his boyfriend a bj, but I'd rather not think about that. My mind instead decided to think about Lisa, my body going into auto-pilot mode. My feet direct me to Calculus, my second to last class of the day. No one was there yet, not even the teacher, so I pull out my phone, heading to my usual seat in the back. Several people start swarming in, all of them people I never talked to. Why would I? Everyone here was cynical, even some of the teachers. The only people who weren't self-centered were my friends and Lisa. Speak of the angel, there she was.

I wave her over, pointing to the seat on my right with a smile. She sits down, her perfume filling my nose, nearly making me sneeze. "Hi!" she greets, and I say my own 'heyo'. We talk a bit about random things, like music and video games, before the bells ring. Mr. Kelly enters the room, his short and stubby frame heading over to his desk. "Hello, class," he greets, clicking away at his ancient desktop. A few people mumble tired hellos, though I'm sure Mr. Kelly didn't even notice. He always seemed so busy and distracted, and his desk was always a mess. It was common to get a bad grade on an assignment just because he couldn't find it in all the clutter.

Class was boring as hell, per usual. Thank God for Lisa sitting next to me, even though her hand did go pretty high up on my thigh. "You're such a tease," I whisper/shout as we head out the door. She snickers, threading the fingers of her right hand together with the ones on my left. "I'm pretty sure you're the tease, baby. Your as looks extra plump in those skinny jeans," she whispers in my ear, making me look away. She sometimes acted... dominant. She used to be a full fledged lesbian in Freshman year, but I guess I was an exception. "Whatever, don't go all homo on me, okay? I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up with a dildo up my ass or something," I mumble, running my free hand through my hair. She chuckles once more, pressing a peck to my cheek. "Now you're just giving me ideas..."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Fifth period: Orchestra. I hadn't brought my violin today, I didn't think they'd have orchestra here. I'll have to remember to bring it on Wednesday. My leather boots barely make any sound as I head downstairs, my eyes roaming the hallway for a sign saying 'orchestra' or 'music'. I really wished they had given me a map or something... My eyes catch sight of a small auburn sign on the wall near a set of wooden double doors. 'Music Department' it read in white capitalized letters. Maybe today was my lucky day. The last thing I need is to spend the rest of the school day wandering around in search of some music room.

"Hiya! You must be Edward," a middle-aged woman with straight brown hair and glasses greets, jumping down from her perch on a desk. I nod, shrugging my leather bag further up onto my shoulder, my eyes glancing down to her pale outstretched hand. I shake it firmly, politely looking her in her brown eyes. "I'm Mrs. Vance, the orchestra teacher. You play violin, right?" i nod, my eyes flickering around the room for a few seconds before returning to her mocha gaze. She smiles, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "Great! Do you have your own? If not, I have a few rental ones that you could use until you get one..." she wanders off, her gaze a bit too intense for my liking. I nod, "Yeah, I just left it at home." Her smile decreases into a flat line, her thin lips pursed as if deep in thought. She finally speaks up after a couple seconds, making me almost let out a sigh of relief. "Are you Swedish or Dutch?" she asks, her brown eyes still narrowed in a critical gaze. My lips twitch down slightly, and I feel a little embarrassed. My teachers back in Frankfurt (and Mother) were all native Germans, so my accent was pretty noticeable. I was from Frankfurt (in West Central Germany), so I still had a Hessian dialect. 

"No, miss. I am from Deutschland," I say politely, scratching the back of my neck. She makes an 'o' shape with her mouth, nodding. "I gotcha. It sounds cool. What state are you from?" I feel myself relax a bit at the question. "Hesse. I used to live in Frankfurt," I explain, but her expression remains blank. "I have no idea where either of those are. I have a friend that went to visit Germany once. I think she went to Stockholm," she says. Don't correct her, she already tried calling you Dutch. I just nod, plastering on a fake smile. It was in my nature to be kind and polite, and I'll be damned if a small mix up like this ruins that reputation. Mother would probably lecture me on the importance of respecting others, so I'd rather remain quiet about the matter. 

The bell rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. She claps me on the shoulder, "I'll go grab you a 4/4. You can sit wherever." With that she leaves, heading over towards a stand with various black violin/viola cases perched on it. There was another stand next to it with cellos and basses. She did say I could sit wherever, but there were only two open seats: one in the far back left with about five violins and then a spot near the front with the cellos. I decide on the first option, heading towards the back. I take a seat in the hard black chair, my legs spreading apart slightly so I could sit in the proper upright position. I used to hate sitting like this when I was in middle school and first started playing violin, but over the years I learned that it was more comfortable that slouching. Mrs. Vance walks over to me, handing me a deep red violin and bow. She also had some sheet music and a black folder in her hand, placing them on the music stand in front of me. "How long have you been playing?" she questions, giving me another one of her intense stares. "About five years," I respond, making her thin lips quirk up in a smile. "That's great! Most of the other students have been playing at least since eighth grade, so you'll fit right in."

It takes her a few minutes to check her email and decide on which song she wanted us to play. She decides on Phantom of the Opera, a song I've played several times before in my old school. The feel of the violin placed between my chin a shoulder and the bow in my hand is like second nature, despite me having not practiced in months. It was all so familiar, and a small smile formed on my face. Mrs. Vance conducted us during the first run through of the song, but she then sat behind the piano and began to play along with us during the second time. Music filled the room, the instruments uniting to form one hauntingly beautiful melody. I could feel the music in my veins, my eyes only having to glance at the sheet music before my right hand starts to bow, the fingers on my left hand dancing along the fingerboard to produce different notes. I was a bit uneasy at first, not using vibrato in fear that I'd mess up the whole thing, but I eventually grew braver, and I even started to sway my body a little to the beat.

My heart was beating loudly in my chest by the end of the third play through of the song, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I had chosen the violin since it could sound both dark and high pitched. Another bonus was that it was lightweight and had more solos. My arms ached to play more, but we had to take a break so that Mrs. Vance could restring one of the violas. I was sitting in rest position, my eyes scanning the sheet music intently. Music was one of my most prized things in the world, whether I be listening to it or creating it myself. I was no writer or poet, and I rarely sang, but playing in orchestra was a way to let out all of my emotions. It killed me even more inside when Father had complained about my playing. I wasn't bad, even when I first started out I was advanced, but he always hated music. He even disliked Mother's singing, which was something everyone else loved to listen to. 

There was the sound of people murmuring to one another, and my eyes glance around the room. I recognized the faces of some of the teenagers, some of them I'd talked with and others that I merely just saw in some classes I had. Few were looking at me, and the same girl with dark hair and green eyes waved my way. I give a small wave back, making her smile and turn to whisper to her friend furiously. My eyes turn back to the front of the class, and I nearly drop my instrument at the sight of the strawberry blonde that was sitting in the second row. Waylon. He was sitting slouched in his chair, a dark brown viola resting on his lap as he typed away at his phone. A frown found it's way onto my lips, my brows furrowing in confusion and wonder. Who was he texting? Was it one of the boys he was sitting with? I'd noticed his stare at lunch, and I couldn't possibly understand how Chris and the others could bring themselves to hate such a lovely being. Sure, their friend Billy left them, but that wasn't too big of a deal, and it definitely was no reason to hate the trio.

"How about we play Viking next? I know it's easy, but you guys have been practicing really hard and I think you all deserve a little break," Mrs. Vance stands behind the small podium once more, her conducting stick in hand. She counts to three, raising her stick up afterwards. It took me a few seconds to find the sheet music, the rest of the class playing on time while I fumed through the pages on my stand. I finally find it, starting on line three, measure two. I was glad the first violins had several measure of rests, meaning that I was only one measure late. The song was fast paced, the violas stealing the spotlight for several moments, but most of my attention was focused on the blonde haired boy in the front. And boy did he steal the show. Head swaying to each powerful down or up bow he played, his fingers moving rapidly, the notes spewing from his dark brown viola with such vigor that it seemed as if the vibrato was the very beating of his heart. His eyes were closed, and even though the song was easy, it was two pages long. Yet he played it perfectly, and the thing was: he had an earbud in his ear. Was that even allowed? Mrs. Vance didn't seem to notice, but it still amazed me. Even I mess up when I was listening to other things than what I was playing, not to mention without even seeing the sheet music. He swayed slightly, his legs crossed, a foot moving up and down to the 4/4 tempo. My mind blocked out all other thoughts, and I even forgot to play a few parts of the song, my mind so intent on focusing on him and only him. 

I barely even notice when the bell rings for dismissal. It takes me a few minutes to realize that everyone else was packing up and leaving, and it appeared that it took the blonde male some time to notice as well. I place the violin back in the case gently after loosening my bow, handing the case back to Mrs. Vance. She smiles, placing it back on the holder. "You played really well. I'm glad you decided to come to Boulder!" she exclaims, giving me a light pat on the arm. My lips quirk up in a smile, but it wasn't for her. I place my music folder in my leather bag, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I see that the green eyed boy is still there. He now had both earbuds in his ears, his hands busying themselves with placing his viola in it's case before clasping it shut. My feet almost walk over to him, but I remind myself that I'd probably weird him out. I wanted to say a lot of things to him: compliment his playing abilities, how he styled his hair with some side bangs in an emo look, or the way he was just very attractive all together. No, that'd definitely weird him out. Instead, I sling my bag over my shoulder, and head towards the double doors, but not without sending another quick glance over my shoulder. I hoped we could be friends. He wasn't like all the other obnoxious people here, and I could tell he wasn't just some loser or idiot. He wasn't a follower, some stupid mindless person chasing after the approval of others. No, he was a leader, someone who did what he wanted and didn't care what others thought about it. Hell, maybe we could be more than friends...

Like best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions on this fanfic. I already know how I want it to play out, but I'd still love to hear how you guys are liking it. Is it too weird? I probably seem lamer than I am just by the way I write (or type, I guess). All comments are welcomed \\(^_^)/


	8. Acht (Eight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Thanks for all the comments, they really do help! I don't have a lot of time to go back and proof read/edit my chapters, so sorry about that ;-; anywho, please enjoy!  
> P.S: This chapter is kinda sad, so sorry. I never intend on writing sad things, but my mind is annoying and decides to anyway. Next chapter is also a little sad, so I apologize in advance. I know, I'm a terrible author for putting everyone through sad shit, but I don't think there's anyone out there who's never had something bad or devastating happen to them. I like to write things sort of realistically(?), so none of my stories have picture perfect (Escape the Fate anyone?) backgrounds or lifestyles. Blah, sorry for ranting. Please enjoy!

The bus ride home was filled with Pantera and frantic texts to Miles.

Gay_Lord: yo Way-Way wassup

Me: Buff Guy is in orchestra

Gay_Lord: wut XD

Me: No joke. He plays violin and he's pretty fucking good at it

Me: I figured he'd be some jock or something

Gay_Lord: he probably plays some sport too

Gay_Lord: y else would he sit with fatass? and he looks too buff not to be sporty and shit

Me: he was looking at us earlier today

Gay_Lord: bruh when

Gay_Lord: why didn't you say anything

Me: At lunch. The douche bags were glaring as usual and when I looked over he just had a calm expression. I don't think he's like them

Gay_Lord: ill do some investigating. billy taught me how to look up peoples backgrounds and shit. i looked up lisas dads number and trolled the dude XD

Me: Wow remind me not to get on your bad side

Me: Don't stalk him wtf is your problem? He's probably just some former football player or basketball guy

Gay_Lord: stalking is my specialty and you know it ;3 ill send you the details. maybe ill find some nudes too XD have you seen him up close? shit i could fucking swim in those blue eyes

Gay_Lord: next time you pass him just like glance down. almost choked just thinking about what he has under them clothes

Me: Okay now you're just being gay

Me: Wtf now I'm concerned. You need to get some serious help dude

Gay_Lord: whatever XD gtg me and billy have some stuff to do if you know what i mean ;)

Me: gtfo you homo DX what would William say if he figured out you like this new guy?

Gay_Lord: he already knows bruh he gets so mad about it lmao

Me: later queer

Gay_Lord: youll thank me later closeted fag

Mom isn't home when I enter the house, so I just decide to play some Resident Evil on the GameCube to waste some time. The house is quiet except for the sound effects from the game, so a sudden knock on the door makes me nearly jump out of my skin. Who could that be? Miles? Lisa? Upon opening the door, I see none other than William 'Billy' Hope. He looked pissed, and with a man that size it could only mean trouble.

"H-hi, may I help you or something?" I ask, keeping the door cracked slightly. The bald man rolls his golden eyes, shoving the door open wide easily, making me almost fall back from the sudden force. "I'm here to talk. I'm sure you know what it's about," he grunts, making himself at home on the small love seat covered in cigarette burns. My body shivers at his dark tone, and it takes all my willpower to move over to him instead of bolting out of the door. I'll have to bitch to Miles about this later.

I plop down in the broken recliner that was only about two feet from the couch, my leg shaking as my fingers laced together in my lap. My green eyes could barely look up to him, and they wouldn't have if it weren't for his deep tone. "Look at me, Park." Once I look up his gaze softens, a saddened look replacing the angered one from before. My brows knit together in worry.

"I-is everything alright?" I ask, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. He lets out a frustrated sigh, his head dropping down into his hands. "It's about Miles," he mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear. My confusion increases even more. "What about him?" I ask, wondering where this conversation was going. William looks up, his large hands clasped together. "It's about his rambling about Gluskin. He's obsessed with the guy." I let out a small chuckle, all worry leaving my mind. I cover my mouth, trying to stifle my laughs as the bald man looks at me weirdly. "That's-" I break out into another fit of laughter, finding his worry hilarious. Miles was always hoeing around (at least mentally. He usually scares most guys away), and it never bothered William before. I finally calm down, small hiccups (though they sounded more like high pitched squeaks, or 'bubbles' as some others have said) being the only noise coming from me. "That's just how he is-" another annoying hiccup- "Don't worry, he may say a lot of things, but he'll always love you the most," I try to reassure, though it doesn't sound too comforting with the small squeaks in between.

"Yeah, you're right, Park." I manage not to flinch when he says my name as if it were venom. I just nod, clasping and unclasping my hands as my eyes look anywhere but at him. He was still staring at me, making me hesitantly turn back to face him. "Is- is there anything else you need?" I grimace slightly at how shaky my voice was, not sure if he was mad at me or just the situation. His snake like eyes narrow, but not in the usual threatening way. "Park, what are your thoughts on Miles?" His question sends my mind reeling. My thoughts on Miles? He was a rude piece of shit homo who somehow was really good at making quesadillas and playing Mario Kart. "Miles," I start, having to pause to clear my throat. "He's-he's different, I'll give you that," my words are slow, contemplative, my throat constricting as if there were a cobra wrapping itself around it. His gaze is unreadable-as it usually was-, but this time it didn't make me concerned, just curious. We're silent for a while, his eyes scanning my face intently while I just sit there, questioning why I even opened the door. I could've been killing zombies right now, but here I am, talking to my best friends worried boyfriend who is just talking nonsense. 

"That's it?" he finally asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. My gaze flickers up for a brief second before glancing back down to the scratched up and stained hardwood floor, and I rub my arm to try to occupy my hands. "Well-" he doesn't even let me finish before he's standing up and walking towards me. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, and it feels as if it's going to burst. I could hear my blood pumping in my ears, the way I swallowed thickly in nervousness. He crouches down so that he's staring up at me from in front of the recliner. My eyes glance to the TV, the pause screen looking back at me. I let out a sigh before looking down at the larger man, my fists clenching. "What do you want, Hope?" I ask, my voice trembling a bit. I was fine with him when Miles or Lisa was around, but I felt scared when we were alone. He already beat me up a few times, mainly for insulting Miles, but my mind never fully trusted him. Maybe it was his eyes, or his baldness. Both made him look like some creepy fugitive. Maybe it was his height? I never really liked tall, muscular guys. 

My mom used to bring a lot of guys home when I was little and living with her and my brothers. A specific guy, one of the heroin dealers she'd go out and party with, had been to our apartment several times. I never really went to check on Mom until the sounds stopped or I heard whoever was staying that night leave from the back door, but I went up to check on her one night before the person left. My mom was there, laying face down on her dirty queen size mattress, drool and reddish-yellow vomit dripping from her mouth, getting in her shoulder length hair and on the side of her face. She was naked, her once white sheets covering the lover half of her body while she snored. I had a damp wash cloth in my hand, and I was going to try to clean up the vomit like I usually did on nights like this. 

But I didn't realize that the man was still there.

He was tall, all broad shoulders and big muscles. It made me worry a bit since my mom was so small... He was going through her nightstand, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth while he rifled through her stuff. All mom had in there was some spare change, lipstick, a small empty bottle of Fireball, and what I know knew were bra stuffers. But she also had some money taped to the bottom of the top drawer. Money she'd been saving up-money for our family. 

"I've been working at another job. I'm saving up some money for us." I looked up at Mom, her pale face brightened with a smile. She was a lovely woman: sea green eyes, pale flawless skin, blackish red hair, and a small body. Everywhere we went, people would stare. She had a lot of friends, most of them guys except for the women she worked with at the retirement home, and some of them would even visit her late at night. I smile, my hand giving her's a light squeeze. "Can I go see your new work?" little eight year old me asks, my own ocean green eyes looking up at her, bright and filled with the innocence and curiosity only a child could have. Her smile faltered, her hand that was holding my own tightening painfully around my hand. "Owie!" I squeaked, tugging my hand back. She blinks several times, as if snapping out of a daze, her grip going slack. I pull my hand back, holding it against my chest. "Mom? Can I go to your work?" I ask again, my mom's eyes scanning the shelf of food that we were standing next to. Her pale manicured hand reaches for a box of cheap mac'n'cheese, her wine red nails shining in the bright lights of the store. "Do you want some soup?" she asks, ignoring my question. I look up at her, my hand still clutched to my chest. She started to hum, and I recognized the song as one from a Patrick Swayze movie, Dirty Dancing I think. I looked around, watching as people walked by, talking happily and laughing while pushing their shopping karts. I nod, and we head to the other isle. 

"Mom? Are you still going to work at the manner?" I ask, my hand reaching for her right hand, but she moves it out of the way before I can even touch it. She hums, her eyes looking forward. "Yeah, I'm still working there. My new job is only on weekends," she says, grabbing a few cans of tomato soup. I nod, and we head to the checkout. I helped place stuff on the little conveyor belt thing, Mom grabbing her billfold from her light grey purse. She opens the wallet, pulling out some fives and ones to pay. I hum, my eyes looking around at the checkout area. I see some toys on a shelf near the candy and lighters, and I move behind Mom so I could see them. One of the plushies was a fox, my favorite animal. I knew not to touch it, so I just give it a smile, saying a small 'hi' to it. Mom tells me to stand next to her, so I do. I look up at the cashier, the elderly woman giving me a smile. "Would you like a sucker?" she asks, and I nod excitedly. She gives a light laugh, reaching into the small jar of candy by the register before handing me a cotton candy Dum Dum. "Thanks!" I say happily, unwrapping the candy before placing it in my mouth. She also gives me a smiley face sticker, ruffling my light blonde hair. "Come on, Waylon, we need to pick Nate up from his dad's house."

~*~~*~*~*~

"I need more money, Mom," my mom says into her cheap flip phone, her hand no longer stroking my hair. I was laying on the couch, my head resting in her lap. "I don't care! That went towards rent," she raises her voice, her breath smelling of vodka and tomato juice. She was drinking a red drink with celery in it, a small salt shaker sitting on the table next to the tall glass. She slams the phone shut, setting it down with a sigh. I turn my head, looking up at her. "Mom? What did Nana say?" I ask, watching as my mom dropped her face into her hand. She was shaking, and I could feel her sharp hip bone digging into my neck, but I don't move. She lets out a quiet sob, and I feel something wet drip down onto my forehead. She grabs her glass, downing the rest of the beverage. I sit up, rubbing one of my tired eyes with my fist. I wasn't sure what time it was; it was black as pitch outside, and I could hear music playing from our neighbors house along with the sound of people shouting and laughing. My mom, covers her face, and I place a small hand on her pale arm. She doesn't do anything, doesn't even seem to notice. "Dammit," she mumbles, her small bony frame shaking. "Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!" She stands up, shoving me off of her. I fall back onto the couch, watching as she staggered to the kitchen. She opened the freezer, grabbing a small weird shaped bottle from there. She heads back to the couch, opening the bottle before taking a sip of the golden colored liquid. She crosses her legs, her right foot swishing up and down. She grabs her phone, her right hand typing away on the mobile as she leaned her head from side to side, something she did a lot when she drank. She had a smile on her face, and she started to hum along to a song I didn't recognize. I poke her arm, "Mom, I think you shouldn't drink that," I say, remembering the other times when my aunt had called either the police or CPS on my mom. I didn't like going to school in a police car or having to go stay with my aunt for days at a time, but it happened frequently. She didn't even seem to feel it. I go to grab the bottle, but this seems to catch her attention. "Get your fucking hands off me," she says, her usually pretty face turning into that of a stranger's. She always yelled when she was like this, that, or she'd just ignore me and my brothers. "Mom-" "Why do you call me that? Why don't you ever call me Mommy? 'Mom', 'Mom', it's annoying." My hand drops, and I look away. My second eldest brother, Ryan, was at a friend's house, and Nate was still at his dad's house. I didn't think he really was with his dad since he wasn't there when we went to pick him up, but Mom didn't say anything. Nate was barely ever home, either out with friends, or at our aunt's house. Whenever he'd return he'd have his hair dyed or cut differently and small holes that looked like tiny red freckles on his arms. 

~*~*~*~**

I lay in my bunk, staring up at the ceiling of the dark room. There was a constant thud against the wall, the faint squeaking of a mattress and a deep voice keeping me up. The room was cold, and I was laying under my dark blue blanket with my fox Beanie Baby, the cold draft of the air conditioner forming goosebumps on my skin. I hear groans from the room right next to mine, but I remind myself that my mom isn't in pain. I learned that it was best to just pretend like nothing happened. 'She doesn't talk about it, we don't talk about it. It's a mutual understanding,' my brother Nate had told me one night when I was worried that Mom had gotten hurt. 'You'll understand some day,' Ryan had chipped in, his fingers pressing the buttons of his Game Boy Advance rapidly. I missed them, I envied them. I loved my Mom, I was her favorite, but I wanted to be able to go hang out with friends, to go to my dad's house, whoever he may be. 

The noise stopped, and I heard the mattress squeak a little. I clutched my fox closer to my chest, waiting about ten minutes before going to go check on her. I tip-toed to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it before ringing it out. Nate used to be the one to look after Mom, but he stopped caring after she slapped him across the face and threw all his things out the window. Now they just ignore each other, avoid one another like the plague. I enter the room, the small lamp on her nightstand revealing her passed out frame. I could count all the small bumps of her spine and her ribs, see the cafe ole spots that she had and the small butterfly tattoo she had on her right shoulder blade. I stop when I hear a sound. My eyes look to the left, and I see a man, tall and muscular, going through my mom's nightstand drawers. I take a deep silent breath, bringing my right hand to cover my mouth to silent my breathing. He was naked, had tattoos covering his body and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The smoke stung my eyes, but I was used to it. I go to turn, to head back to my room and pretend that nothing had happened, but the dull and scratched up wooden floor squeaks beneath my feet. His head snaps up, his muscles tensing defensively. I take in a audible breath, my lungs tightening with panic. I knew not to talk to or look at the men that came here, unless they said hi or gave me a quarter or some candy. Some were nice, even bringing gifts for me, Nate, and Ryan when they visited. Then there were others... I could tell this guy wasn't nice.

He slowly turns around, and I nearly scream. His eyes were a greenish yellow, the pupils dilated so that only a thin sliver of the strange iris color could be seen. He took a puff of the cigarette, pulling it from his mouth. Smoke escapes through his chapped and cracked thin lips, his eyes focused on me. He turns back to the drawers, closing them shut. He had money-my mom's money she had been saving up for us- in is hand, and my eyes flickered over to my mom's unconscious form.

"I didn't know she had any kids here," he drawls, taking another drag. I shuffle my feet, feeling my hands start to sweat a bit. It couldn't be the washcloth since I could feel the sweat on my right hand. I remain silent, remembering when Ryan yelled at a man for making Mom bleed. He got slapped, his lip splitting open, a light red hand mark forming only seconds after the hit. I glance to Mom, watching her scrawny back rise and fall with each steady breath she took. I was petrified, my arms and legs going stiff. A puff of smoke gets blown directly at my face, the smoke burning my eyes slightly, reminding me of when I'd go to visit my papaw and his house would reek of smoke and cheap cherry candles. But I don't flinch. Maybe it was because I was too young, or too ignorant, but I didn't quite realize how badly things could've gone. I was lucky he only strangled and hit me around a bit.

A strong arm reaches out, ruffling my blonde colored hair. I huffed, trying to pull away, but his fingers start to grip my hair. I don't scream, too shocked. It was all happening so fast. He'd yanked my head back, my teary green eyes looking up into his petrifying yellowish ones. His other hand goes to my throat, his calloused thumb stroking the area of skin above my trachea. The goosebumps on my skin were slightly painful, but it wasn't due to the cold. Now I was scared. The wetness of tears rolling down my face and neck snaps me out of my shock, and my feet stumble backwards a bit before I'm harshly yanked forward. His left hand strikes me across my cheek, making my head snap to the left. My eyes were wide, but everything was bleary from the tears. I wanted to be away from him, from this room. I wanted to be cuddled up in my bed, my fox stuffed animal snuggled close to my side. I wanted to stare up at the dark ceiling, to feel the too cold draft of the air conditioning freezing my skin. I wanted to hear the faint sounds of music and excited shouts from the neighbor's apartment, to smell the faint scent of cigarettes and the Hawaiian Breeze air freshener that Mom occasionally sprayed around the apartment before inspection. But what I wanted the most was my brothers. Sure, they sometimes picked on me, and we didn't talk all the time, but they helped give me advice and let my play video games with them from time to time. I wish I could've went with Nate to his dad's house, or that I was invited to visit Ryan's friends with him. I knew I was four years younger than Ryan, and five years younger than Nate, but I could behave. I could be nice. I'd stay quiet! They wouldn't even know I was there! Why did I have to be so... alone? I knew I was the annoying younger brother who sometimes accidentally deleted their Pokemon save files, or told on them to Mom whenever she'd listen, but I could change!

His hand goes back to my throat, his fingers wrapping around it lightly, his thumb trailing up and down my windpipe. My lips trembled, my nose started running, and the tears continued to fall. I could barely hear the light 'splat' sounds they made over the pulsing in my ears, the man's blurry face peering down at me with narrowed eyes. His thumb pauses, and I take in a shaky breath. There is silence, no sound except for the beating of my heart in my chest. The air is filled with the scent of cheap cigarettes and sweat, along with the faint scent of dirty laundry. There is no movement, my body frozen in place as his thumb hovers over my small Adam's apple.

Then there's pain.

The hand tightens around my neck, the thumb pushing forward against my throat. I let out a strangled gasp, the action barely making any noise. My eyes clench shut, my body jerking back, or at least trying to. His grasp tightens, his fingers clenching the locks of my hair hard enough to make my scalp sting. Tears and snot run down my face, and a small sob escapes my mouth. My heart as racing so fast that I feared I would die of panic. 

My mind finally begins to register what was happening: I was getting choked. Not the play choke holds my brothers would do to pick on me, no. This was real. The pressure felt strange, like the bones in my neck were going to snap from the force of it all. My knees were shaking, one of them bending slightly. I was trying to breathe fast, my eyes flickering around the room, but the grey dots that started to form followed wherever my gaze went. My face was pulsing, and I kept trying to swallow, but the uncomfortable pressure of his thumb was still there. My head started to hurt, my eyelids covering my eyes slightly. I could breathe a little, small and short inhales and exhales, but it still felt like my lungs were being squeezed tight by a pair of large fists. My other leg buckles slightly beneath my weight, my face feeling hot one second then cold another. By now I couldn't hear a single thing over the rushing of my blood in my ears, my vision obscured by blobs of flashing grey and white. My left hand moved to grasp the wrist of his hand that was gripped around my throat, but my movements are sluggish. I hand to feel around for it, my hand finally coming into contact with the tattooed and scarred up arm. I had seen the same small red dots on his arms as Nate, and I could feel one of them with my small thumb. The tears had stopped flowing, the salty streaks starting to dry on my cheeks. I knew not that much time had passed, but in my hazy mind it felt like an eternity had gone by. 

I could feel the tears drying on my neck as well, most of them resting above where the man's hand was. My dull nails tried to pry his hand from my neck, but all I could do was hold onto is arm to keep myself from dangling. By now my legs where wobbling so much that I could barely stand, the only thing keeping me from collapsing to the floor was his grasp. My mind was foggy, my body feeling so heavy that I couldn't even move the hand that was clasping his arm.

Is this why Nate and Ryan never come to check on Mom? Are they scared? Has this happened to them before? It felt as if I'd swallowed shards of broken glass, and I had to have my mouth wide open in order to get small bits of air into my aching lungs. They burned, it reminded me of one time when I was at the beach with my aunt and I'd went too far out into the sea. I was seven, my feet unable to touch the sandy floor of the ocean. I'd grown tired, and I accidentally swallowed some water. I remember not being able to keep my head up, the salty water entering my nose and stinging my eyes. This was like that, except that my uncle had scooped me up out of the water before I could drown. This time was different. There was no one here except for me, the tattooed man, and my unconscious mother. I was drowning without there being any water, or a person to save me. My hand falls away from his arm, my legs finally giving out. My eyes fall shut, and my head rolls back a bit. 

I felt calm. It was peaceful, as if my whole body were floating. Was I even still in my body? It felt as if I were millions of miles away. I could still feel the pressure on my throat, but it wasn't as much as it was before. I took in some slow, wheezing breaths, as if my body were asleep. Was I sleeping? Was I even still standing? My heart beat was still echoing in my ears, but it wasn't that fast. It reminded me of the drum beats in Never Say Goodbye, a song that Mom made me listen to one night when she was drunk. Since I was her favorite, she sometimes made me stay up late to listen to old songs from the 80's or the 90's. It wasn't that bad, but I'd be tired the next day at school, some song by either Bon Jovi or Poison or some other old rock band stuck in my head. I could recite the lyrics to Living On a Prayer off the top of my head as if it were the alphabet.

I thought about Mom's humming. She loved music, especially when drunk or after taking a lot of her meds. I remember one night when she'd taken a lot of pills with her nightly glasses of wine. She had Metallica blaring from the TV, the volume loud enough that the neighbors on the other side of the apartment's wall that split it into two different units could hear it. Ryan was up in his room, probably taking apart a bb gun or playing some PC game, ad Nate was out with his friends. I couldn't hear the sound of keys jingling, nor the creak of the door opening over the loud music. Mom was singing along poorly to Sanitarium, her head turning from side to side, her legs crossed like how she always sat. I didn't hear Nate's angered shout, or the sound of my mom's almost empty wine glass crashing down onto the hardwood floor. I could only see it, see my oldest brother's hands waving in the air, his dark brows narrowed in an enraged expression. He smelt funny, like he sometimes did when he'd come back from his friend's house, and his eyes looked strange. I stopped shuffling the cards I was playing with, no longer in the mood to play solitaire. My attention was instead focused on my mom, her smile quickly turning into a scowl. I could see her thin lips moving, see her pale manicured hand point an accusing finger at my tall brother. He was also shouting, but my ears could only register the booming lyrics of the song my mom had been singing along to only seconds before.

I wanted to hear her singing. To see her happy, even if she didn't pay attention to me. I wanted to see Nate, and Ryan, and my aunt and uncle and cousin. I wanted to be in bed, listening to the faint sound of music, my fox toy wrapped in my arms, my body covered in goosebumps from the cold air despite me being snuggled up beneath my blue blanket. I thought about the hot summers, the cold winters, and the mixture of temperatures in the fall and spring. I thought of my friends at school, my teachers, the neighbors that lived on our street. The early mornings of playing Slap Jack with Ryan before school started and the late nights watching my brothers play CoD or Halo. I think of how Mom used to hold me when I was little, maybe three or four. Before the divorce, before moving here into this roach infested apartment. Before she would drink every night and pass out after sleeping with some random guy. Before Ryan went quiet and before Nate started wearing long sleeves to cover his scarred and cut up wrists all the time. Before all of this...

The man let's me go, and my body falls to the floor like a bag of bricks. My head hit the hardwood floor with a dull 'thud', and I blink my eyes open slowly. I didn't look up, I couldn't, not even if I wanted to. I felt so tired, as if I'd spent a whole week without sleeping. He continued going through the small nightstand, but this time I don't try to stop him. I hear the rustling of clothes, seeing the man's bare legs soon get covered up with stained and ripped denim. He pockets the money, what had went from just a couple of five and one dollar bills to what now totaled up to be almost two hundred dollars. That was a lot of money, even ten dollars was a lot, and I had to struggle to turn my head the other way, just so I wouldn't have to see him holding it. Mom's hard earned cash from her other job that she'd taken up just to try to give me and my brothers a decent life. I hear him shut the nightstand drawers quietly, my face pressed against the cool wood floor, my eyes staring dully at the slightly yellowed walls of my mom's small room. He steps past me, his shoes making the floor shake slightly beneath me. He flicks off the lamp, shutting the door so that it was only cracked slightly. I hear him go down the stairs, followed shortly after with the sound of a door closing shut. Out the back, just like all the other men that come here. Gone, leaving my mother passed out naked in her own vomit, all without even a single glance over their shoulder.

I'd gotten up a few hours later, my breathing still making a small wheezing sound with each inhale and exhale. I climbed into Ryan's bunk bed, the bottom one, my fox stuffed animal and blanket still in my own bed. I didn't bother covering up, allowing the cold air to nip at my skin. The scent of Ryan's Axe was faint, mingling with the smell of smoke that I had become so accustomed to. I lay there, staring at the dark wall, not even bothering to curl up in a ball like I usually did before sleeping. No, my mind was too busy thinking about nothing to even care. Tears didn't fall, a frown didn't form, my eyes didn't narrow into the childish glare I'd usually give one of my brothers whenever they'd pick on me. I just laid there, my face a blank mask. I didn't even bother moving out of Ryan's bed when the sun rose, I just continued to look at the wall that was now the same nicotine stained wall as the walls of Mom's room. I'd just left the washrag on the floor, not bothering to clean the vomit from my mom's hair and face. I didn't want to go back into that room, I didn't even want to get out of bed. Ryan yelled at me for being in his bed, but I was too exhausted to shout back some childish insult. I just climbed the later up to my own bunk, laying with my legs extended and my arms flat at my side. I remember not answering to his playful comments or jokes, but I remember when I finally couldn't hold it all in anymore. I remember the cold dampness of a single tear sliding down the side of my face.

William just gives me a serious expression. "I want you to keep tabs on that Glueskin guy," he says, is tone serious. I let out a sigh of relief. "Gluskin," I correct, "not Glueskin." He rolls his yellow eyes, shaking his head. "My relationship is on the line, and you're worried about whether I know the guy's name or not?" Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "William, you have nothing to worry about. Like I said, Miles is just a natural flirt. You know he hasn't cheated on you," I say in exasperation. He had me scared shitless only moments before, but now he was just being foolish. "Yet," he says, standing back up. I sort of wish he'd stay crouched down. Sure, it was awkward, but at least he didn't tower over me that way. "Pardon?" I ask, not sure what he was implying. He raises his arms up, and I hear his back pop loudly. "He hasn't cheated yet. That I know of, at least..." he looks down, though I knew it wasn't to look at the floor. He was most likely thinking of all the incidents where Miles could have possibly hooked up with some other guy, as dumb as that was. Miles was deeply in love with William, whether the bald man realized that or not. I'd known Miles since we were in elementary school, longer than William knew him, and I knew for a fact that the brunette wasn't the type of person to just sleep around. 

I was too busy thinking about how absurd William's fears were that I had just realized what he was asking of me. "Wait, you want me to what?" I ask, my sea green eyes sending him an accusing glare. He crosses his arms. "I said for you to keep and eye on Mr. Dutchland," he says matter-of-factly. I don't bother to correct him this time, my mind too busy thinking about what all curses to say to Miles later for putting me in this situation. William takes my silence as his cue to leave, and he does just that. "Tell your mom I said hi if she's here," he says, closing the door shut. I let out a huff, picking back up my Game Cube controller, pressing resume on my game. I spend the next hour slaying enemies and thinking about the new intriguing student.


	9. Neun (Nine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I haven't had the time or motivation to update any of my stories lately (if you hadn't noticed, I'm very lazy, or just not at home enough to write a full chapter), so updates will be slow. I'll post chapter ten (Zehn) on Wednesday to give me some time to write chapter eleven (Elf). I know, I suck at doing this whole story thing. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy!  
> ***This chapter will be sad, but it reveals some more of Eddie's past***

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Two hundred. Not much, but it's hard to work out with a cramping stomach. I lean back, arms outstretched above my head, letting out a sigh. Earlier today at school I had gym. It reminded me how much I needed to focus on my physical shape. I was by no means weak, at least not compared to the rest of my schoolmates. I had a six pack and broad shoulders, but I knew they'd start to fade if I kept avoiding exercise. Mother offered to get me a gym membership, but I kindly declined. I never really liked crowds, especially the staring. Judgement seemed to follow me wherever I went, and I didn't want to fuel those flames by going to a public gym.

I let out a huff, staring up at the sponge patterned ceiling of my room. The obnoxious lavender scent had dulled, thankfully, but I could still smell it from my spot on the ground. The cool air chilled my bare stomach and arms, the small amount of sweat on my hairline starting to dry. Another sigh leaves my parted lips, and I roll over onto my side. I curled into a fetal position, on hand resting on my stomach as the other went up to cushion my head. It must've been midnight or so, but I was unable to sleep. Mother had gotten a call from the pharmacy down the street about my prescriptions, saying that they'd be ready tomorrow. Well, more like later today, if I was right about what time it was. My blue eyes stare at my dresser across the room, not really focusing on it, but needing somewhere to look while I went deep into thought. How did I ever sleep without medication? How did I dream of pleasant things? Was there some sort of trick to it? I'd gladly learn it any day, but I knew it wasn't that simple.

I finally stand, stretching out my limbs, hearing a small 'pop' come form my back. I stretch out my neck, hearing another small 'pop'. My bare feet pad across the floor, heading to my dresser. I grab out a pair of clean boxers, exiting my room and heading to the bathroom afterwards. Thank goodness Mother was a heavy sleeper. I'd give anything to have her sleeping abilities.

The hot water of the shower helps soothe my muscles, even though they weren't too sore. I'd only done two hundred of my usual exercises: sit ups, knee crunches, cross crunches, cycling crunches, push ups, squats, lunges, side lunges. It wasn't that much, but I hadn't worked out in a week or so, and I didn't want to over exhaust myself too much.My forehead presses against the warm shower tiles on the wall, my eyes falling shut. Exhausted, tired, worn out, yet unable to sleep. What a great combination: depression to make you tired, and anxiety to make you unable to sleep. Thank God my meds would be here later in the day. I feel wide awake at night, and even in the morning, but around noon or the evening I'll space out and feel like a corpse. But when I finally get the chance to sleep, I end up feeling awake again. I should probably cut back on the caffeine, but Milchkaffee was too good. I blame Mother for that addiction...

A small smile forms on my lips. I really was a Mother's boy. Even before my Father did what he did, I still always favored my mother. Her birthday and Mother's Day were always my favorite things to celebrate besides Weihnachten (can you blame me? Mother makes the best Plätzchen. I never really cared for Stollen, but there was always plenty of other foods to eat). I'd always go out and buy her the most lovely roses, and each years she'd say, 'Eddie! Sie sind schön! Vielen Dank!' (Eddie! They're lovely! Thank you!). Her smile lit up the room whenever she'd see the flowers, and her hug was the warmest thing I've ever felt. Even when Father was abusing me, I still got Mother flowers. Just because I was feeling broken and sad, that didn't mean she had to suffer. She deserved the world and more, yet she was stuck with me. A mainstream 'troubled child'. Teenagers always talk about how they hate their parent(s) and how they never sleep, or how they're "anti-social" and depressed. It made me fit in, but it was strange. You see so many people smiling, despite having described themselves as sad and depressed, mad and hating. I guess I'm guilty of it too, but at least I'm trying to get better. At the mental hospital I went to, I met a girl. She always huffed, groaned, glared. The annoying brat always followed me around. Her name was Marie, but she insisted that people call her Rosalie. She always told me how 'depressed' she was, even going as far as showing me self inflicted scratches. In my opinion, it looked like she'd been attacked by a kitten, and they healed in only a few days. I wish the wounds my uncle had done had healed that fast...

I stare down at my scarred up legs, the sight more normal to me than regular legs. Who would think? A year later, and they're still dark purple and red. They thankfully turned into scar tissue a few months ago, some of them needing stitches, but I still put this one oil on them to help them fade. I knew it was in vain, the gashes too deep, but I did it to keep Mother from worrying. I still had a thin white scar going down my chest, but it was barely noticeable, thankfully. Not like I'd ever have a lover to judge it, but still. I didn't want to be viewed as a freak, not even by Father. I always wanted him to be proud of me... But I'd let him down. He caught me with that boy, and then he snapped. Before that... He'd taught me how to ride a dirt bike, how to throw and catch a ball, all that stuff. I never really liked sports, but I did it for him. His pale blue eyes once looked so kind, but I ruined it. Why did I have to develop feelings for Philip? The boy from Kirche... 

It was my idea to sneak out and meet him in the woods. I was the one who pressed him up against a sturdy oak, whispering sweet words into his ear before pressing my lips to his. I was only thirteen, I didn't know any better. Had I known I'd get beaten-raped- then I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have caressed his delicate face, or whispered 'Ich liebe dich, meine Liebe.' (I love you, my love). Sometimes I could still feel the softness of his lips on mine, the way he whispered my name into the kiss. His scent, fresh roses on a pleasant Spring day, mixed with warm honey. The fireworks, the feeling of being loved, like being welcomed home after a long time away. His arms around my neck, my hands on his hips. The fire, the sweet, pleasant flames that seemed to ignite inside me from the very moment I first saw him.

"Eddie," he whispered my name, the sound more pleasant than even the most elegant symphony I've ever heard. "Are you sure about this?.." The question lingered in the cool August air. My answer wasn't verbal, instead, I just gave his smaller hand a slight squeeze. 'I've never been more sure of anything,' is what I had meant by the action. It felt so right: we'd been dating in secret for over six months. I knew it wasn't that long of a time, but for us, it felt like an eternity. We were young, yes, but we both felt something more than what most kids ever had. Love. It sounds stupid, but the sparks were undeniable. Even the slightest touch sent electricity down my spine. "Yes," I finally reply with words, leading him further into the dark forest. It was our spot: a small clearing with a decent sized pond in the middle, the area secluded due to the tall trees. Their colorful leaves danced as they fluttered in the wind, as beautiful as the snow that would start to fall in several months. But my attention was focused on the most beautiful sight of them all; Philip. His golden hair, hazel eyes, pale skin. The boy who caught my attention, who made me actually feel something for once. Life wasn't bad, just dull. He was just the excitement that I needed.

"Schön," I whisper, bringing my right hand up to stroke one of his golden locks back behind his ear. His vibrant eyes were wide, the same pure look he always had now changed into something else. Something more mature, the same look I was most definitely reflecting. His own hand reaches up to grasp mine, his touch delicate and light, as soft as a snow white feather. He truly was too good for this world...

I press him up gently against a tall oak tree, my larger frame covering his more delicate one, as if to shelter him from the rest of the world. He was as delicate as glass, as precious as a warm hug on a chilly day, or the scent of rain on a lovely April day. He was as lovely as a single rose blooming on a sunny spring afternoon. As sweet as a piece of chocolate cake with a glass of Earl Grey tea. As mesmerizing as the ocean, or the night sky when the moon was full and the stars were shining. But all good things must come to an end.

"Close your eyes," I whisper, my face mere inches away from his. He gives me a curious look, the corners of his soft pink lips raising slightly. "Okay," he murmurs, obliging to my command. I watch as his delicate lashes flutter shut, his pale creamy skin seeming to be illuminated by the moonlight. I feel my breathing hitch in my throat, the sight of such a lovely being making me wonder how I ever got so lucky. All my life I've been blessed, so what did I do to earn such an amazing person? My face flushes slightly, my hands feeling clammy. I raise on up to the side of his face, the smaller male leaning into the touch without hesitation. My lips spread into a soft smile of my own, the feeling of him so calm and trusting of me helping to sooth my nerves. I lean in close, placing my other hand on his shoulder gently.

"Ich liebe dich, meine Liebe," I whisper against his delicate lips, pressing my own against his softly.

It felt as if we were connected somehow. Sparks, fireworks, I wasn't sure how to describe it. As cliche as it sounds, it felt so... right. His mouth was soft, sweet, tasting like the angel food cake he had ate earlier. Warmth spread all throughout my body, my heart fluttering. More like hammering against my rib cage. My head felt light, dizzying, almost. I pull him closer, needing more of his warmth. So soft, so inviting, so... darling. His hands reached up to clench my shirt in his fists, pulling me in even more. It felt like I was swimming in an ocean of him, of his scent, his taste, his love. Him. Philip Schmidt, my first, and only, love. Never before had I felt attraction, but right now it was the only thing I knew. 

I move my lips against his slightly, new to kissing. It was as if I were moving on instinct. My lips press firmly against his, and I hear and feel him gasp. He presses back with just as much vigor, his grip on the front of my shirt tightening. He tilts his head, his lips parting slightly. I take it as an invitation, running my tongue along his bottom lip lightly before slipping it inside his warm mouth. He tasted like roses and cake, and the taste was addicting. I wanted more, needed more, my hands moving lower to grasp his hips. My tongue explored, coming into contact with his. I hear him gasp, and I go to pull away, but his hand on the back of my head brings me back to him. Our lips connect once more, this time harsher and more forceful than the first. His tongue grazes against mine, the muscles entangling together as one. The sparks are still there, his tongue nice and soft as it strokes my own. I suck lightly on his tongue, earning me another one of his small surprised gasps. His hand moves up to stroke my hair, and I feel a smile form on my lips. He pulls away so that only our noses were touching, and I open my eyes, not even realizing I had closed them.

"Ich liebe dich auch, Eddie," (I love you too) he whispers, making my smile turn into a goofy grin. I hug him close, resting my head on top of his. He smiles, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck. I stroke small circles into his back, his arms reaching up to wrap around my neck, pressing us closer. My eyes closed in bliss, the familiar feel of his smaller body wrapped up in my arms making me feel as if I were on cloud nine. I feel his warm breath against my neck, his lashes fluttering against my skin. It tickles, and I let out a small laugh of my own. He starts laughing too, the sounds of his giggles more pleasant than any song I'd ever heard. "What's so funny, darling?" I ask, wrapping my arms more securely around his lithe frame. He just chuckles some more, running his fingers through my medium length black hair. 

"Your heart is racing," he says, making me freeze up, a bright flush spreading on my face. Thank goodness for the darkness. I let out a nervous laugh, "Sorry." He shakes his head, his blond hair tickling my chin. "No, it's nice..." He removes an arm from my neck, bringing it to rest above my heart. I hum, enjoying the warmth of his touch. We stay there for what felt like an eternity, just me, him, and the bright moon shining up above us. If this was Heaven, then I never wanted to imagine what Hell was like. Mother was right, 'Heaven is pure happiness. Everything good is there, and no one is ever sad. Only bliss.' I press a kiss to the top of his head, resting my cheek against his feather soft locks. He truly was an angel. So loving and kind, a smile always on his face. It was the only smile brighter than Mother's. I'd finally found someone as amazing and loving as Mother. I love Philip, and I want to marry him like Father married Mother. I knew two boys liking one another was wrong, but at the moment it just felt so right. Something this good surely couldn't be wrong, right?

Wrong.

I heard the snapping of a stick, the sound making me blue eyes snap open. I looked around, but the moon barely helped me to see in the dark. A blindingly bright light immediately shines in my face.

"Eddie..." I barely register Philip's hands gripping onto my shirt before he's harshly yanked off of me, the force causing the top two buttons of my shirt to fly off. My eyes widen, staring at where Philip laid face down in the damp August grass. I hear him let out a pained groan, but my gaze is redirected to the shadowy figure standing right before me...

"Vater?.."

A large hand winds its way into my dark locks, yanking harshly so that I was now looking up at the pale face of my father. The moon cast shadows on his skin, making his dark expression look even more frightening. His lips were a straight line, and I could see several veins poking out on his face from how hard he was clenching his jaw. My eyes were wide, my mouth open in shock. How did he find us...

Before I can even try to come up with answers, my head is yanked forward, my feet dangling a few inches off of the ground. What's he doin-

Slam.

What...

Slam.

What just happen-

SLAM!

My head feels dizzy, this time from the throbbing in the back of my head. I blink my bleary eyes open, taking a few seconds to get rid of the dark and silver blobs that were starting to obscure my vision. What the hell? My lip trembles, my brows creased. Did he-? The feel of something warm and sticky clinging to the dark hair on the back of my head answers my question. He'd slammed my head against a tree, the same tree I'd been pressing Philip against only seconds ago.

"Va-Vater?" I gasp out, more out of shock than pain, though the scratches from the bark were starting to sting and throb. His grinds his teeth, his eyes narrowing even more. "Don't," slam. "Call," slam. "Me," slam. "THAT!" 

Thud.

"Eddie?" I hear Philip whisper, though he sounds so far away. Had he managed to stand? Was he able to walk? It sounded as if he were several yards away. I blink my eyes open, but my eyelids continue to close slowly. I could see, but there was black at the edges of my vision, as if someone had put a screen before my eyes. I feel the stickiness start to dry in my hair before more comes out, the thick liquid running down the back of my neck. I go to wipe it away, but my arm was moving so slow, barely able to rise up off of the grassy ground. My lids start to droop too much for me to barely see anything, my breathing ragged. I feel so tired. I'll just close my eyes for a bit...

"E-Eddie?... EDDIE!" I hear shouting, but it sounds so far away, as if someone were calling out from the other side of the lake. My fist slowly clenches, the back of my head feeling cold and tingly. It was sticky, which grossed me out, but I was too tired to wipe whatever it was off. Maybe it was just sap from the tree...

"Unmensch!"(monster) I barely hear, and I let out a huff. They need to quiet down, I'm trying to sleep. Whoever it was sounded mad, but I felt too drowsy to care. There's some shuffling, a few shouts and a scream, but my eyelids are too heavy for me to open. I hear a particularly loud screech, the sound making me wince a bit. It brings me out of my daze a bit. It sounded like Philip, maybe? 

"Halt die Klappe,"(keep your trap shut) a deeper voice says, quieter than the other, but just as vigorous. Just as I'm about to doze off, I feel a heavy weight fall on top of me. It felt like someone had set a bag of potatoes on me, not too heavy, but not too light to go unnoticed. I let out a huff, not feeling strong enough to let out a groan. I shuffle, trying to get it off, but it doesn't budge. I try once more, eventually giving up, feeling too exhausted. My neck was stating to feel cold from the thick liquid, the substance clinging to my hair. I felt gross, my cheek resting against the cool, damp forest floor. The scent of mud and rain filled my senses, but along with it was the smell of roses. 

I feel something heavy press down on the thing on top of me, causing me to feel the pressure. I hear a wheeze, a weak gust of air blowing against my neck.

Philip. 

My mind seems to reawaken, the dull throbbing in the back of my head seeming to disappear. I let out a grunt, my body feeling limp and heavy. I curse my weakness, hating the fact that I let something so small tear me down. I push up, letting out a hiss at the pulsing in the back of my head. It felt as if my skull was being cracked open with a sledge hammer, making my arms shake slightly. But I sit up, feeling my partner's limp body slide off of mine. My eyes are still too heavy to open, so I feel around blindly for the delicate boy. Philip, God, please let him be okay.

My hand presses against something soft- hair. Philip's hair. I picture the blonde locks, the way they shined in the sun and glowed in the moonlight. The way they felt only minutes earlier, tickling my face and neck.

"Phi-" I have to cough to clear my throat, the feeling of dirt on the left side of my face making me cringe slightly. I hated being filthy... I ignore the urge to wipe it off, instead stroking the hair. I will my eyes open, the left one stinging with whatever filth had gotten in it from the ground. I blink away the dark clump of dirt that blocked some of my vision, and when I did, I gasped. I saw Philip, nose bleeding, eyes closed. He had a muddy footprint on the side of his precious face, the area red and starting to swell. "Darling..." I reach out, trying to clean off the dirt. It only smudges, and I can feel the hotness of the dirtied cheek beneath the dirt. Tears start dripping from the corners of my eyes, first two, then five, then countless more. I let out a broken sob, pulling up the smaller male despite how much my body ached and burned. It was as if our small heaven was suddenly turned into Hell, the flames of pleasure now turning into flames of agony. 

I examine him, though my vision was too blurry from the tears and mud in my eyes to let me properly see. I can only whisper gibberish and sweet nothings to him, though I doubted he could hear me. I bring him up to my chest, smelling the faint scent of roses masked by mud and filth. But it was still there, but it smelt more like a rose after a major thunder storm. One that had been plucked from its bush and stomped on, its petals wilting and merging into the mud and soil of the damp earth.

I clutch him close, my hands no longer gentle, but desperate. My hands are all over him, his face, hair, shoulders, arms, anything I could get my hands on. I was grasping him like a shipwrecked sailor grasping a lifesaver, afraid that if I let go, he'll disappear. I'll disappear. My one happiness would be ripped from my clutches. My joy will slip from my grasp. If I get torn from my angel, I'll only fall and sink and drown in the depths of this hell that was starting to surround us.

Nothing gold can stay.

The rose that had bloomed and blossomed in a world of green and sunlight can only stay that way for so long. But soon it starts to wilt, its vibrant red petals crumbling and dying until all that is left is a pile of brown dust, only the faint scent of its once living state remaining. No matter how much you nurture it, water it, care for it, it's still going to wilt. Nothing good can last forever. 

No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, nothing is forever. Things either change or die, no matter how sad or heart wrenching. Flowers get planted, and whether you water them or not, it doesn't matter in the end. They all eventually wither up and die, just like people. My rose, my flower, my darling... 

"Darling, darling, darling..." I whimper, over and over, bringing his body flush against mine, but this time not out of passion. This was urgency. My hands were shaky, my whole body was trembling. How could I let this happen...

"You make me sick..." Father murmurs the words, but they still sound like venom. Poison that dripped from his tongue and landed on me, on us. Toxin seeping into the ground, killing the plants, ruining the garden. Destroying the beautiful flowers, making them shrivel and fade. It felt like there was a thorn in my chest, twisting and turning, cutting up my heart into thousands of bits and pieces. It starts raining, the droplets of water mixing with the tears that were streaming down my face. I press my face against Philip's neck, breathing in his scent. My tears dampened his neck, the rain making his once golden locks stick to his face. I feel the icy drops soak my hair, mixing with the stuff on my neck. Blood, sap, whatever. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. 

Nothing gold can stay. Even the most lovely of flowers wilt and die. Every light eventually goes dark. Roses wilted, daisies dead, the garden trashed and ruined. 

I was always afraid of loosing him, but now I was forced to face those fears.

 

My eyes snap open, my chest heaving. I felt sick, I could feel the bile burning as it fought and clawed its way up my throat. Before I can stop it, vomit is rushing out of my mouth, the yellowish orange liquid landing on my feet and the bottom of the shower. It quickly gets washed away by the shower water, which had now turned cold. Cold, like the rain on that cursed night. It was freezing, but my face was warm thanks to the tears that had stained it. 

I press my hand over my mouth, my other clutching my stomach. I hadn't eaten at all today, but I still felt the urge to vomit. As if someone was squeezing my stomach and lunges, making me want to both gasp and hold my breath. It felt like I was drowning, yet dying of dehydration. 

My legs were shaking, and I eventually lower myself down so that I was sitting with my knees pulled up to my chest, my body shaking and shivering from both the cold and anxiety. My lip was trembling, my teeth clenched as I took in long, ragged breaths.

He hadn't died. Some broken ribs and lots of bruising, but he hadn't died. I was so scared. Shit, I still am scared. I'm scared shitless. I could take the beatings, the insults, everything Father and my uncle did. But seeing Philip, my sweet rose, so beat up and broken...

My fists clench, my blood seeming to boil in my veins. How could I feel so numb at times, but at other moments feel so... angry? Enraged? I wasn't sure which was worse: dying from drowning, or from suffocating. That was four years ago... My whole life had changed that night. It started out magical, as if I were in Heaven, and ended agonizingly, leaving me in Hell. A hell that lasted for three years, and ended in even more pain. 

My eyes close, my body feeling as if it were on fire, making the frigid water coming from the shower head seem warm. I rest my head in my hands, rocking back and forth a bit, my breath getting caught in my throat. My mouth opens, and I greedily suck in air, but my lungs still feel strained. Too much, not enough, it was all blending together. I was in a desert, dying from dehydration, yet drowning in an ocean at the same time. I tried focusing on the cold shower water, a coping skill one of my therapists had taught me, but it seemed nearly impossible at the moment. His face, my dearest Philip, his lovely face that had been beaming with a smile earlier that night, beaten and bruised, my own father's muddy footprint marking it. My love, my darling, my rose...

My body feels chilled to the bone by the time I get out, my lips slightly purple. I dry off, slipping on my black boxers before crawling into bed. It was almost three; five more hours till school started. Four and a half hours to sleep, if I'm lucky. Taking sleep medicine would only make me tired at school, so I decide to just lay in bed, praying to whatever god would listen to let me get at least an hour of sleep. My prayers are answered, thankfully, and I fall asleep within an hour, though my 'dream' is the same flashback from in the shower. 

Except this time, my rose truly wilted.


	10. Author's Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read, or don't. It's not important, I just need to rant.

I'm a very shitty author, just to clear things up. And what do we shitty authors do? Well, I write about shit that I have no fucking clue about. I'm ignorant, stupid, and very, very idiotic. I write for fun, and I'm dumb enough to hurt others whilst doing so. I don't think about what I write, which is very shitty of me, but I just don't. I see writing as a way to get away from reality, as childish as that sounds. I'm dumb enough to write about things I have no clue of, just to take my mind off of things. Very, very stupid on my behalf. I can't even describe how ashamed and embarrassed I am. Humiliated, disgusted with myself, what I tried to write. I apologize sincerely to all of you who've read Pinstripes and Ties. Yes, it was shit, and it did offend people, which was and never is my intent. Like I said, I write for myself. I use writing as a way to distract myself and to make me happy, and I've failed to realize how much that affects others. My deepest apologies and regrets. I can't describe how shitty I feel, and I apologize for my ignorance.

You guys know little about me, which is the idea. My life is unimportant, as is my description. All that stuff doesn't matter, and it never will. But what I will say is that I am a bisexual female. 'Attention whore!' Yep, sure. Like I said it isn't important, and it's no excuse for my ignorance when it comes to trans/intersex/non-binary/etc people. 

What I'm trying to say is that I did not grow up around any trans/intersex/non-binary/etc people, and I don't live with or have relations with many people of those titles. I do have several friends who are genderqueer, yes, but they are still coming to terms with themselves, and never talk about it. My last girlfriend ended our relationship because she was questioning her gender, and I don't ask about personal things like that. I know it is a touchy subject, so I took down my other Outlast fanfic from here. I never want to hurt people or cause them any sort of inconveniences. Like I said, I myself am NOT trans/etc, and I am merely just an idiot who writes without taking into consideration the thoughts/opinions of others. 

Please, tell me if I ever cause any more problems. I know I fuck up all the time, it's the only thing I'm good at doing, but I really don't mean to. If this story has caused problems for any of you, if anyone even does read this, then please tell me. I'll either change a few things, or if it's severe, I'll just delete this. 

Thank you all for your time. I know I'm a major dipshit.


	11. Zehn (Ten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo my lovelies! There may be spelling/grammatical errors, so sorry for that. This chapter is a more pleasant one, no sad stuff. I'm currently working on Elf (Eleven), so I'll post that on here tomorrow. The rest of my week won't be as busy as the past two have been, so I will get more time to write and edit. Please enjoy!
> 
> This chapter is 7281 words.

Yesterday at school was much easier than the first two days. I knew where everything was (surprisingly), and I even had several people offer to escort me to and from some of my classes. I kindly declined all offers, but the thought was still nice. It felt sort of exhausting talking to others, if that makes any sense. It seemed to take so much energy just to put on expressions; paying attention to and keeping up conversation was a completely different story. 

Today I was wearing a vintage looking Iron Maiden shirt with some black jeans with a chain belt. My hair was styled so that instead of being slicked back, the hair was parted to the right. I decide to finish the look with my finger less leather gloves and my black combat boots.

For breakfast I just eat two pieces of toast. Mother kept a close eye on me, even after I told her I wasn't feeling too well. "You aren't getting out of school, meine Liebe." It wasn't that I wanted to get out of school, I actually found school somewhat calming, but my appetite just wasn't as strong as it normally was. "I know, Mutter." I down the rest of my coffee, giving Mother a peck on the cheek before heading to the restroom to brush my teeth. Once done, I grab my back, waving bye before heading out the door."Tschüss!" I hear Mother call after me.

A girl with brown hair and blue eyes invites me to sit next to her. I do so, and we- more like she- talk about music. She was more into rap and R&B, so I didn't really know half of the people she mentioned, but I followed as well as I could. "So who all do you listen to?" she finally asks after several minutes of talking. "Oh, um, rap isn't really my thing. I'm more of a rock person I suppose," I say, letting out a small nervous chuckle at the end. I didn't want to disappoint, but I didn't want to lie, either. She gives me a blank expression for a few seconds, worrying me slightly, but a smile soon forms. She lets out a laugh. "I could tell by the shirt, and the rest of your clothes..." she murmurs, her eyes examining my outfit from my hair to my pants. My face heats up a bit, knowing I probably sounded like an idiot. I could wear a sign reading 'ask me about FFDP' and I'd still explain to others that I favor rock over any other music genre. 

The rest of the ride is spent with me filling her in about some of my favorite bands (though she barely knew any of them). Reaching the school felt like an answer to a prayer, and I nearly let out a sigh of relief. I hated having someone's full attention set on me, no matter if it was good or bad. She probably thought I was an idiot, which isn't really that big of a deal, but still. I hate feeling like I'm being looked down upon by others. 

"What elective do you have today?" the brunette asks, having to crane her neck a bit in order to look me in the eye. "Gym," I reply, making her let out a groan. "Ugh, I have choir. Do you like to sing?" Her question nearly makes me burst out laughing, except I felt a bit too tired to do so. Instead, I manage a small chuckle, shaking my head. "Oh no, I don't know anything to do with singing. I'm more of an instrument kind of person," I explain, thinking about how I sounded like a professional on the violin, but couldn't even name vocal notes by sound. How could people control what notes they make with their voice? On an instrument, or at least the violin, it's a simple matter of where you place the fingers of your left hand on the fingerboard. Singing was way different. She laughs, making me look to the ground. Idiotic remark number two. If I keep this up, they'll probably send me to get my brain checked. "Lucky. Singing is easy as hell. It takes real skill to play an instrument," she comments, though I don't find myself agreeing with her. Both tasks take an equal amount of skill and effort, some people were usually just more talented in one field than the other. "What instrument do you play?" I tilt my head to look down at her. "Violin," I respond, making her nod. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, and we wave our goodbyes when she has to leave for Language Arts. I make my way to Biology, Mr. Wernicke greeting me with a large smile and a firm handshake. "Welcome back, Edward!" he says cheerily, and I just nod in response. I enter the room, heading to the desk I've been sitting in for the past three days. The same spot in front of Waylon Park. We never talked, but I did catch him staring at me from time to time. I knew it was a pigment of my imagination, and that he just merely glances around the room when I think he's looking at me. Still, I liked to imagine that he was looking at me. Something about him intrigued me, though I wasn't sure if it was his quiet personality or the fact that he wore band tees. So far I could tell he liked Iron Maiden, Metallica, Motionless in White, and a band I believe is called Get Scared, though I'd never heard of them before. Judging on his clothes, we had similar music taste (obviously). The funny thing was that he usually had one earbud in whenever I'd see him, yet he never got caught for listening to music during class. I've caught glances of his handed back papers and, from what I can tell, the boy was gifted. All As, despite seeming to never pay attention in class. 

As for me, I just tried my best. My grades were good, all As except for a B+ in Calculus, but I usually had at least 80% of my attention focused on my teachers or whatever paper we were working on. The other 20% of my attention was either focused on song lyrics or the way Waylon held his pencil. Lucky Lefty, writing in a mix of cursive and print. No, I don't just spend all my time looking at him and his papers, but when I glance over I see him writing away at a fast pace in his unique font that seemed to slant to the right a bit. 

We had most classes together, except for third and fourth period. Our Calculus and World History periods were swapped, but other than that, our schedules were the same. Still, he never said a single word to me. Why do I even care if he talks to me or not? He's quiet, except for around the brunette-who's name I found out is Miles-, and he prefers to work by himself than in large groups. I don't blame him. I prefer sticking to myself when I can, but I don't completely hate human interaction. I always make sure to keep polite while others are around, which results in me rarely ever saying 'no' to anyone. Whether it be a request to sit with someone, or even a person asking to touch my hair (which I felt really uncomfortable with), I could never find it in myself to deny them. 

"Say 'girl'," one of the people I was sitting next to asks. "Girl," I reply, keeping my eyes on the board, reading over what we were doing today. "How long have you been speaking English?" a different person asks, and I finally turn to look at them. "Hm, since I was twelve or thirteen, I believe." They nod, exchanging looks. "Why do you still have an accent?" the same girl who had asked the first question inquires. I feel my face get a little warm, "My teachers didn't really have too good of English accents, and I've only been living ere for about a week." More nods. The bell soon rings, and Mr. Wernicke steps inside. "Hallo! Today we will just be continuing on with our packet from yesterday. Feel free to work in groups or with partners, as long as you actually get some work done." The sounds of people standing up and chatting instantly fills the room, but I remain in place. I'd already finished the packet yesterday, so I decided to just continue reading Das Parfum. I pick up my book, which always rested right atop my binder for whichever class I was in. I find my bookmark, a scrap of paper with the sketch of a rose on it, and start reading, my eyes scanning over the slightly yellowed page. 

My mind had blocked out all the movements and sounds that were going on around me, too engrossed in the novel to care about what others were doing. I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and it takes me a moment to realize that someone was trying to talk to me.

"Eddie? Hello," a girl with blonde hair continues to poke my arm, and I look up to see that she had another girl with her. "Yes?" I ask, marking my page before closing the book, though I don't bother to set it down. Her friend speaks up. "Want to work with us? We're almost done, but you look lonely," she says, her eyes flickering down to my desk as if in search for my work. I give a small smile, though the action probably doesn't look as realistic as my fake smiles usually do. "Um, sure. I'm already finished though..." Please let them leave. All I want is to read. And sleep, maybe some music. It felt like I hadn't slept in a long time, despite the two cups of coffee I'd drank this morning. I see the blonde raise her brows in surprise, "Really? That was fast." I nod sheepishly, fiddling with the paper back book that was resting in my hands. Idiotic comment number three? Well, maybe not idiotic, but certainly dorky. Is that even a word? "Oh, well, that's great. We were actually stuck on the last page, so maybe you could help us?" the blonde offers, adding in an 'innocent' lip bite at the end. I humor the two with a smile, "I'd like that."

I grab my stuff, following the duo over to a lab table near the back of the room.

~*~*~*

 

My head faces Miles as he talks about some new skin toner or whatever the hell he's into, but my eyes keep flickering up to watch the lab table that was one table away from ours. "I swear, I was so close to the fire that it melted off my moisturizer," he rambles on, and I quickly refocus my gaze back on him. Think, what was he talking about? Some bonfire or something? "I swear, Billy just doesn't listen. And he's gay! Ugh, if only I could have a hot boyfriend who was a good listener too." I look down at the last unanswered question on the back page of the packet, though the words blur and mix together as my mind thinks of other things. Ever since three days ago, I've been feeling uneasy. And confused, along with concern? I don't even know anymore.

I decide to confront him about William. 

"Miles, has William seemed... odd? Has he mentioned anything to you this week?" Smooth one, Waylon. Way to be subtle. Miles looks up from the front page of his untouched packet, an eyebrow raised. "Like what? You know he barely talks about his emotions," Miles replies, his chocolate gaze focusing on me. I look away from him. "Well, the other day he came to my house and-" Miles' loud voice cuts me off. "He what? Why'd he do that? Did he kick your ass again?" The questions come out like a flood, and I shake my head. "No, no, he was just wor- concerned, I guess." Wow, am I butter? Smooth, Way. Smoother than before. I nearly roll my eyes at my own sarcastic thoughts. Miles remains quiet for a few seconds, his brown eyes looking down at the scratched up top of the lab table, as if it had the answers to all of life's questions. He eventually looks up, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What? Has he done something to you? I told him to be nice." His words are laced with concern, and I wave a hand to dismiss his worries. "No, he hasn't done anything. Just mentioned something to me," my voice is low, and I feel stupid for bringing the topic up. Miles was... Well, Miles. He was a natural flirt and commented on how attractive everyone else was constantly. William was just overreacting, but it still bothered me that he wanted to drag me into this small situation. 

A minute of silence and Miles intense gaze makes me crack. I was foolish for thinking that William would actually take my advice and voice his concerns to Miles. Stupid self conscious giant! With muscles like those, he has no reason to worry. "It's nothing. He just mentioned something stupid, and I just wondered if it was still bugging him. Of course it was. He'd sometimes ask me if 'Glooskin' had made any moves on Miles yet, as ridiculous as that sounds. Even though the German doesn't even look at Miles, William still believes that something is going on between the two. My brunette friend just shrugs, "Whatever, weirdo." We spend the rest of class with Miles copying down my answers, the only words between us being bland attempts at small talk. Despite the small distraction of our packets, my mind-and eyes- are still focused on the dark haired male that seemed to be the main attention of my thoughts.

~*~*~*~**~

Lunch goes by as usual: we get food, Miles steals some of my fries, I take everyone's orange juice, and we sit, just the three of us. Of course Miles and William go on talking about whatever the hell the two talk about, and afterwards are the glares. Today was just like the rest of the days this week: Walker, Blaire, the twins, Frank, and even Dennis glaring at us for the last few minutes. Their whole table hated us, all except for a blue eyed boy. Edward Gluskin. 

"God, do they ever stop? I'm flattered by all the attention, but seriously!" Miles exclaims, and William places a large hand on his shoulder in attempts to calm the brunette down. Upshur lets out a huff, directing a glare of his own at the table full of jocks. "Miles, they aren't worth it," I say monotonous, the usual failed attempt to keep him from stirring shit up. He may not get bullied anymore, but I sure as hell did. And with the dirty look Chris was giving us, I knew I would be in for something if I let this continue on. I decide to make him focus on something else. 

"What do you say we go on a ride tonight? If your prissy mom lets you," I offer, making sure to insult him so that his annoyance focuses on me instead of the big scary jocks that looked like they belonged in a loony bin. That, or some sort of prison. Seriously, who the fuck is 6'9? Walker was basically a human war machine! If he was even human...

"Dammit Way! My mom may be a bitch, but only I can call her that," he fuses, thankfully turning away from the table to focus on me, his glare softening. I chuckle, taking a large bite of my cold pizza. "Mhmm, you let everyone call her that but me." I toss an empty oj carton at him, his hand smacking it to the other side of the table. William scoffs, rolling his yellow eyes. "You two are so childish. No wonder Walker targets you." I scowl at his comment, but stop myself from throwing another empty carton. Instead, my eyes flicker back to the table filled with douches. 

He was wearing his hair differently today. He looked kinda goth, and it made me wonder if black was his natural hair color, or if he dyed it. Some people looked good with black and dark hair, but I preferred being blonde. Just the thought of all the cleanup and aftercare for dying hair made me want to steer clear of it forever. 

He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt, which I thought was ironic since it had Eddie on it. And his name was Edward, or Eddie. Jesus, how lame can I get? He looked real nice in black. I've seen several people who tried dressing in dark colors, but they just made it look weird. Not sure how they could manage that, but they did. I myself didn't wear all black, but I did tend to wear either a black shirt or pants with all of my outfits. It wasn't really intentional, but band tees are usually black, and who doesn't own a pair or two of black jeans? 

I made sure to only glance at his table from time to time, careful enough that no one suspected anything. I wasn't stalking, just curious. His shocking blue eyes seemed to either be focused on the walls of the cafeteria, the clock (I'm assuming), and his tray. He didn't eat much, and I only saw him eat a single fry today. I don't blame him; cafeteria food is disgusting. But it's free for me, and you get used to it. Or maybe he was some sort of health freak. I knew kids who'd refuse to eat the greasy school lunches just because they didn't want to eat junk. I didn't really care whether food was healthy or not, I had high metabolism either way thanks to Mom, but I still found it petty that others did. 

I was curious what he was thinking about. Did he like it here? No. No sane, or even insane, person would ever enjoy this school or the people in it. Did he miss his home? He came from Germany, but that's basically all I know. I have no idea what it's like there. The only thing I know that's German is some bands and Williams 'dad'. Other than that, I was ignorant of the country.

~*~*~*~*

Everyone was kind to me, yet I couldn't stay focused on the conversation for some reason. My mind kept wandering off, spacing out, whatever you want to call it. I really need more sleep. I felt as if I could fall asleep at any moment. Too bad I couldn't have been this exhausted last night. The food in front of me didn't look that bad, but my body didn't feel hungry. I make myself eat a fry, but my stomach feels full just after two bites. Frank eagerly takes my slice of pizza and the rest of my fries, mumbling a 'thanks' around a huge mouthful of food. I wince slightly, containing the cringe that I wanted to make at the sight. 

"So Gluskin, you dating anyone here?" Chris asks in his deep voice, waking me from my dazed state. "Hm? No, not yet," I respond, used to the question. The staff at the institution I went to, as well as some of the patients there, asked me about relationships. Only the one, but that was over four years ago. Jeremy lets out a loud cackle, convincing me that he was more hyena than human. "Man, girls love you! You could get any chick to fuck you," Blaire exclaims, running a hand through his slicked back hair. I shrug, "I don't really care about that sort of thing. It just seems so pointless." Everyone's attention turns to me, even the twins'. It's a miracle that I don't flush from all the attention. I cough a bit, feeling embarrassed. Why did I say that? What is that, idiotic comment number four? Why am I still keeping count? "I mean, with how many sluts there are, you don't want to get any kind of diseases. And they're probably all loose and dirty," I explain, my voice quieter than usual. I get a few nods in agreement, and Chris just laughs. "You aren't wrong." I remain silent the rest of lunch, only offering a few smiles or head nods.

Now it was time for fourth period. I grab my things from my locker, my Calculus binder and my book, before heading to the class. My 'friends' (people I usually talk to, including Jeremy and the twins and others) great me with smiles. "'Sup, Gluskin?" Blaire says, and I nod my head in greeting. "Hey." My desk was right behind his, so he often turned around to talk to me during class. It didn't usually bother me, I always managed to finish class work early, but today it seemed like a burden. I've had a bad migraine since second period, and his chattering only seemed to make it worse. "You have gym tomorrow, right?" the brunette asks, his strong cologne burning my nose a bit. I turn my head to the side a bit, pretending to look at the clock, but really just trying to get a breath of fresh air. "No, I have it next period," I say. I was looking forward to it. I loved the exercise part of it, and I was one of the best when it came to sports, though I found them boring. I'd rather run laps than fight over throwing a ball in a basket. 

Jeremy makes a face, the sort of expression that I felt like making at the smell of his cheap cologne. "That sucks. I hear two of the fags have gym on odd days, too. I'd rather have art," the 'sharp' looking male exhales, shaking his head. I raise an eyebrow, both at the 'fags' and 'art' part. Who was he talking about? And what was so bad about art? "What do you mean?" I inquire, hoping for some more clarification. He rolls his eyes, a grimace forming on his face. "Upshur and Park. Those two disgust me; Billy, too. Bunch of cocksuckers, that's what they are." Now my other eyebrow was raised. I didn't know much about the three, but I still knew who they were. Billy was Miles' boyfriend, or close friend. I couldn't tell if people were joking or not when they said they were together. Miles was gay, or at least bisexual. I had nothing wrong with people of any gender or sexuality, but I was too frightened of what would happen if I admitted it out loud. I knew very well who Park was. Waylon Park, the silent blonde haired boy who no one seemed to acknowledge, unless it were in a hateful manor. I'd never personally talked to him, but I'd heard from others that he was dating some Leslie or Lesa girl. I didn't have any classes with her, but I knew that she was considered as 'sexy' by other peoples' standards. 

"Isn't Waylon dating a girl though?" I ask, already knowing the answer, but curious as to what Jeremy would say. His scowl seems to darken. "Yeah, a fucking lesbian. Lesa never even talked to guys before she met Park. They're probably just together to hide the fact that they're a bunch of homos." The way he spit both their names was my signal not to question it anymore. Instead, I look down at my sheet, filling in the answer for the last equation. Blaire's eyes look down to my paper, "Can I see that when you're done? You're super smart." I nod, though I internally sighed. He always copied off of my work. How was he even in this class? He must've cheated his way here. It didn't bother me that he copied me, and I'd feel indifferent about it if he just copied things down, but he always wanted to ask questions. 'How'd you get this?' 'Are you sure it's right?' 'How do you even understand this?' I feel so bad for his parents.

Calculus is finally over, and it's now time for gym. I had my clothes in my gym locker, so all I do is put up my book and binder before heading downstairs. A few people wave at me in the hallways, but I pay them no mind. It felt like someone was trying to pry my skull open with an ice pick. I enter the gym, standing in my spot near the back. People file in, but I pay no mind to who they are or what they're doing. Except for the strawberry blonde that walked in just before the bell rang. 

"That was close Mr. Upshur, Mr. Park," the gym teacher, Coach Scompt, comments. The brunette just shrugs, heading over to his spot with a care free look on his face. Waylon bit his lip, hurrying to his place. We get told what we were doing today: running half a mile around the track, doing exercises, then playing basketball. After the brief overview we get sent to the locker rooms. 

My locker was near the back where the restrooms were. There weren't many people in there, our class being smaller than the other classes, so it was thankfully quiet. I put in my combination, opening my locker before starting to get changed.

~*~*~

Miles rushes into the locker room before me, heading to wherever his locker was. We weren't able to pick our lockers, which sucked, but I was fine with it since there wasn't anyone with a locker near mine. Last year I had gym with Strongfat, so I'd always go and change in one of the restroom stalls. I was glad that this year was different.

I head to the back of the room to the small section of lockers that was next to the bathroom. It was quiet back there, and no one could pick on me. It was like my own small, smelly paradise. My Converse make small pats on the tiled floor as I head to my locker, the song Leech by BFMV playing in my ears. My pace slows when I look up to see a tall figure, my feet nearly stopping. Eddie Gluskin, the scary tall dude who could probably break my neck with the snap of his fingers. I feel a nervous lump form in my throat as I slowly approach my locker that was thankfully on the other side of the small area from his. The sets of lockers were formed in small open squares, but most people got lockers near the front of the locker room. I let out a sigh, my fingers twisting the lock to enter my combo. It opens with a click, and I hesitantly reach in to grab my shorts and gym shirt. 

My head remains lowered as I take off my shoes, but I turn to look over my shoulder to take in the sight of the tall dark haired male that shared the small area with me. My gaze is met with a muscular back, but after a few seconds of shock I notice pale white and light pink lines on the expanse of skin. There weren't many marks, only six, but some of them looked fairly large. They ranged in color, length, width, and location, but they all seemed to be caused by the same sort of object. A knife or blade of some sort, but where they were placed made me realize that they couldn't have been self made. Unless he could angle his arm weirdly, but I highly doubted that. The lump in my throat seems to grow, and I have to force myself to look away when a light grey tee shirt covers up the pale and scarred flesh. What the fuck? Did he get attacked by a wild animal or something? It takes me a few long seconds to get my mind out of its shocked daze, and I change into my own gym clothes. How could someone so fit and intimidating looking get attacked? The marks definitely looked man made, but why would anyone do something like that? Did he get in a fight or something? 

I force myself to keep my gaze on the ground as we're called out of the locker room, but the urge to look at the new student makes it hard to focus. We all head outside to the track field, Miles and I trailing behind the group of obnoxious students, like usual. The images of the scars still play through my mind, but it was none of my business. I'd never mention something like that to anyone, not even Miles. I knew people who would hurt themselves on purpose, but the scars were old, and they couldn't have possibly been from self harm. I try to force the questions and concerns from my mind.

"Ugh, I hate this class! Sure, I have a locker next to a cutie, but the smell in the locker room is disgusting, and we have to do all this dumb physical stuff," Miles whines, making me roll my eyes. I had to agree with him about the smell, but I really didn't mind the exercise or sports. "It's gym, what do you expect?" I ask, watching as students started running on the track. He lets out a loud exhale, and I notice his steps becoming smaller the closer we got to the track. "It's not fair! Lisa says that in the girls' locker room they share lotion and perfume. Why can't boys do that? All we get to smell is sweaty feet and balls," Miles begins to pout, and I just shake my head. We reach the track, and I say goodbye to Miles. He tended to just cross his arms and walk, while I enjoyed running. I was one of the fastest people in our class, so I'd finish the two laps pretty quickly. I start to run, feeling the rush of air in my hair and face, feeling as if I were flying. I start to catch up with the people who were in front of us, and I start to pass people by. I saw Miles on the other side of the track, and I feel a little bad for him. Why can't he at least jog? He'll get points marked off if he continues to do this all the time.

I've finally surpassed the majority of students, but the larger and more athletic people are a short distance in front of me. And with the usual jocks, I see Eddie. He was in second, right behind some tall and lanky guy, but he was only jogging. I took the time to admire his muscular frame, from his pale white legs to his covered back (of course, with the scars in mind), and then to his inky black hair. I wish I could be that fit... I keep a few feet behind him, my lungs starting to feel a bit strained. I compose my breathing, inhaling for five seconds and exhaling for six. It felt like a fire was burning inside my chest, but that didn't make me fall behind. Ignoring the tingling in my legs, I continue on, slowing to a jog. One lap down, another to go. I could still see Miles walking, though his pace had picked up a bit. Couch Scompt must've yelled at him, like usual. I would've shook my head if I wasn't so focused on finishing. My throat felt dry, as if I had swallowed a mouthful of sand. Keep going, you need the exercise. All you do at home is sit on your ass and eat, never exercising. The only thing close to exercise that I did would have to be sex or walking around school. I was by no means fat, I just didn't have much muscle. 

Half a lap to go, and my eyes were back on Gluskin. How often did he work out? Must be everyday to get a body like that. Maybe he was on a diet, and that's why he didn't eat. He'd slowed down a bit, but was still jogging. I couldn't blame him: it was a short distance, but starting out fast on the first lap left you feeling a bit sluggish on the second. I maintain the same jogging pace that I had started the lap with, my nose burning from how strained my breathing was. Just a little further, then you could get some water and relax for a few minutes. I think along to the song Labyrinth by OOMPH!, picking up my pace a bit. My stomach muscles burned, but that was good. If it didn't burn, then you weren't doing it right. One quarter left, then I'm done. I finally catch up to Gluskin, who was now doing a slow jog. I was beside him, about three feet between us. I glanced over to look at his face. He had an exhausted look on his aristocratic face, his pale eyes looking dazed as he trudged along. I wanted to ask if he was alright, but I'm not that type of person. I only talked to Miles and sometimes William, and of course Lisa. Shit, I didn't even talk to my own parents. I preferred not to talk to others. I hated people who never shut up, except for Miles. Well, I did hate him at times, but I still enjoyed talking with him.

My gaze drops lower, my eyes searching his arms for any scars. There was a faint pink one that went halfway around his left wrist, almost like a bracelet. I couldn't see his right arm, but I doubted he'd have any self inflicted wounds on it since he's right handed. If he were to self harm, it'd most likely be on his left wrist. I had my head faced forward so that he didn't know I was looking. I was just... investigating. Who wouldn't stare at someone with scars? It's rude, very rude, but all humans are naturally curious. We wish to find answers or questions that are irrelevant and unimportant for no reason what so ever. That's why we're attracted to gossip and stupid bits of information. You could ask someone if they knew why the sky was blue, and they'd start looking around for the answer. It's unimportant and doesn't affect them in anyway, yet they still want to learn.

And in my dumb quest for unimportant shit, I glance to his legs. I only looked for a brief moment, but I could see deep lines scattered randomly across his lower left leg and a couple more on his lower thigh. My eyes snap forward, and I come to a stop after I pass the white line. I let out a few huffs, crossing my arms over my stomach as I tried to catch my breath. Were those self inflicted? Why am I so curious? Because I'm just some stupid human in search for things that are none of my business? The scars were a pink color, some even looking a bit purple. I couldn't see if they were healed over, but they did worry me a bit. I'd never seen any like that. I'll admit, I've spent some time with people who were pretty angsty, and who did self harm, but their cuts were just thin baby scratches that disappeared within a week, or even less. The guy looked like he'd got attacked by some sort of animal. I could feel my skin tingle just trying to imagine how painful they must be.

It takes the slower people (Miles) about six more minutes to finish, so I go and get a drink of water while the rest of our class waits. I hear Coach Scompt scold Miles for 'not putting in enough effort'. I would've phrased it as 'being a lazy asshole', but that's just my view on it. We head back into the gym to do exercises, which I didn't really like due to my lack of strong and bulky muscles, but I managed to survive. After that was basketball, one of Miles' least favorite sports. We were put on separate teams (Scompt learned early on that all we do is talk when we're together), Miles giving me a sad look and doing the 'a single tear rolls down my cheek' sign. Yep, we're pretty lame. I offer him a shrug, watching as he turns to head to the other side of the gym. I finally take a look at my team, having to crane my neck a bit to get a look at some of their faces. I don't even have to look up to know that Eddie was on my team. Great, now I'll never get to play. Each small team had four people, and there were six teams in total. None of the students in here really gave me any trouble, they just chose to avoid me. I didn't really mind, but I felt pretty lame and awkward just standing there like an idiot, doing nothing for half an hour.

Our teacher blows a whistle, "Begin!" I cross my arms over my chest, standing out of the way from the others. The tall lanky guy from on the track starts with the ball, and he passes it to Eddie, managing to keep the other team from grabbing it. Eddie dribbles it a bit, his eyes searching before landing on me. Before I can comprehend it, he's passing the ball to me, and I thankfully catch it. Two people form the other team start guarding me, but I manage to toss the ball to the hoop. It circles around the rim for a bit and, to my surprise, actually goes in. My team members don't really show much expression, but Eddie gives me a bright smile, showing off two rows of bright and perfectly straight teeth. I feel a corner of my mouth tug up in a small smile, my chest feeling a little weird. I've never been praised, and I know he didn't say anything, but it felt... good. Knowing I could make someone pleased, besides Lisa. Sure, she called me great all the time, but this was a different matter. We play for the next twenty five minutes, Eddie, and even the tall guy, passing me the ball often. I made a total of six hoops, which isn't much, but it was way more than I'd ever made during a game. 

We get sent to the locker rooms when five minutes of class were left. My face felt warm, along with my hands, which were usually ice cold. Sports and exercise helped with blood flow, I guess. It was like I had ovens for hands. Were hands supposed to be warm? Hell if I know. My mom always had cold hands, and the only time my dad ever touched me was to give me a pat on the back one time when CPS came over. 

I slip off my shirt, grabbing my deodorant and putting some on. I thankfully didn't stink, but I hated being sweaty. I grab my Slipknot shirt, pulling it over my head before removing my shoes and shorts. I slip on my skinny jeans, then put back on my all black Converse. I shut my locker door, turning around. I saw Eddie slipping on his combat boots, and my mouth opens to say something. 

"Eddie, right?" I ask, my voice coming out a bit gravely. I cough to clear my throat. He pauses his movements, his head raising up a bit. He finishes tying his shoe, turning around to face me. He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt, which made me smile. My favorite song from them was Run to the Hills. My brother Nate got me into them. He nods his head, outstretching his hand. "Yes, Eddie Gluskin. And you are Waylon Park, correct?" I look down at the large, pale hand, hesitating a few seconds before placing my right hand in it. His skin was lukewarm, which felt pleasant against my own hot skin. I nod, pulling my hand away after giving his a firm shake. God, I hope my hand didn't feel sweaty. I don't need another giant picking on me. My eyes glance up at his face, but I focus my gaze slightly below his right eye. I hated making direct eye contact, unless it was with someone I'd known for a long time. Even without looking straight into them, I could still tell that his magnificent icy blue eyes were focused intently on me. 

He had a wide smile on his face, making him look like some famous Hollywood actor. His skin was so pale and smooth, his teeth white and flawless, his eyes light and dazzling. His hair looked so healthy and the color was a major contrast against his perfect skin. And his body, how did he get so... perfect? I looked like a battered stick compared to him, but he looked at me as if I were just as impeccable as him. 

There's a few seconds of silence, and I feel like an idiot for even walking up to him. 

"I, uh, wanted to thank you... for earlier," I mumble, hoping he heard me so that I didn't have to repeat myself. He gives a deep chuckle, and I finally find the courage to look him in the eye. Why was he laughing? Why wasn't he mad that some geek like me tried to talk to him? He seemed so friendly, kind, not like the douches he sat with at lunch. He nods, "Well, I could tell you knew what you were doing. You're a really fast runner," he says in his smooth voice, an accent lacing his words, though it sounded nice and pleasant. I nod, "You're pretty fast yourself. I almost couldn't catch up with you." My face feels a bit warm after I close my mouth. God damn, I sound stupid. 'Oh yeah, I was stalking you basically the entire class period. And for the past two days as well.' It wasn't really a lie that he was difficult to keep up with. I could've easily ran up to him and matched his pace, but that was probably because he hadn't eaten any lunch. I was interested in how fast he was when he had a lot of energy. 

"Really? Haha, I wasn't really trying as hard as I should've..." he trails off, running a pale hand through his dark hair. I offer a smile, not sure how to respond. There's a loud knocking on the locker room door, followed by our teacher saying we had one minute left. I look around, not sure what else to say. "Um, see you around, I guess?" Smoother than smooth, Way. Totally not lame sounding.

He nods, giving me another small smile. "See you tomorrow in Biology." I grab my bag from my gym locker. What did that make us? Classmates? Acquaintances? Maybe even... friends? 

I exit the locker room, looking back over my shoulder to see the tall and pale man. How could someone look so scary, yet be so nice?


	12. Elf (Eleven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been for ever (no pun intended) since I last updated. I've been focusing more on rp, so I haven't really updated any of my fanfics lately. My sister has also been using my laptop all the time (I finally got a hold of it), so when I did get time to write chapters it's only been about a thousand words at a time. I hope you guys aren't too mad at me. This chapter doesn't really have much going on in it, but I still hope you enjoy. I wrote this a week or two ago, but forgot to post it on here. I'm already working on chapter twelve, though I'm not sure when it will be done or when I'll post it on here. Anywho, please try to enjoy! \\(^_^)/

I felt like a little schoolgirl with a crush. Not a crush, but still. It was more of a longing, wanting to be friends with him. He was very interesting, I'll admit that, but I wasn't exactly sure why I wanted to befriend him so badly. I like his style, the fact that he's quiet, and he has soft features. And the blonde hair. Not the same pale blonde as Philip's, Waylon's has a more reddish tint, but still. God, I need to get over Philip. Four years have gone by, so why do I still think about him? He didn't die, but I felt so... scared. Terrified, for lack of a better word. Knowing how much Father had hurt him, how much Father hurt me. I nearly passed out just by Father bashing my head against the tree, and I was slightly bigger than Philip, so I can't even begin to imagine how much he suffered.

"Alles in Ordnung?" Mother's concerned voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look away from the window, turning to my left to meet her dark blue gaze. My eyes look to my surroundings, and I remember that we were in a cab. My pale blue eyes return to her darker ones, and I nod slowly. "Yeah, just... tired." It wasn't a lie, not entirely, at least. School seemed to go by in a blur, despite me barely having paid much attention to anything. Mother gives me one of her signature small and sad looking smiles, like the one from the plane. One of her pale hands reaches out to give my shoulder a comforting squeeze. My lips quirk up in an attempt of a smile, which earns me a worried frown. "Eddie, is everything alright? Did something happen at school?" Mother's question makes my small smile disappear, my brows creasing slightly.

"No, school's great." She doesn't seem to buy it, making me feel a bit disappointed in myself. We've only been in Amerika for almost a week, and I've already caused her to worry at least five times. Now that I think about it, I haven't even been talking that much to her. All I do is say 'Guten Morgen', 'Gute Nacht', and simple 'yes's or 'no's in between. We used to have hour long conversations when Father first went to prison. Fourteen months since the nightmare ended completely, and yet I still act stuck up and introverted. What happened to me wanting to make Mother happy? I still did, but I didn't act like it. All this time, she's basically been left on her own. She might as well live by herself with how little I try to interact with her. Now I feel even worse for neglecting her like that. 

"How's work?" I ask, hoping to make her happy, or at least distract her from her worries. It takes a few moments, but her worried frown eventually turns into a bright smile. "Work is great. They've had me working at the front desk, but next week I start mending clothes. I'm hoping they'll let me work on larger projects soon, but I'm not sure how long it will take for them to see how well I am at sewing," Mother trails off, a finger pressed to her lips as her gaze focuses on the back of the seat in front of her. I hum, knowing he was deep in thought, and probably wouldn't even notice I was talking while lost in her own mind. I didn't mind; I tend to space out a lot myself. Must be a genetic thing...

The car comes to a stop, and Mother pays the driver in U.S dollars. We were actually heading to pick up a car that Mother had bought online. It wasn't much, just a plum colored Honda that worked good and was a decent price. While my mother talks will the person, seller, whoever the lady was, I look down at my phone. Rude, I know, but I felt awkward just looking around at random things. So, phone it was. 

Once the talking and paper signing was over, we finally got to drive around in our 'new' car. Mother was ecstatic, chattering about how much better it was to drive a car of your own instead of rent an Uber. I nodded in agreement, enjoying the ride. Some of the cab drivers had tried to make small talk, something that Mother and I both hate with a burning passion. Why beat around the bush? I prefer when people get straight to the point, except for yesterday...

Waylon and I hadn't even talked that much, but it felt as if we'd been friends forever. I remember it as if it'd happened only a minute ago. He thanked me for passing him the ball, then complimented me on my 'running'. The only reason why I was so ahead of the others was because I was the first person on the track. Several people had passed me at first, but 3/4 through the first lap they fell behind. I'd done a light jog at first, then sprinted a bit, but then had to return to a jog in order to keep from passing out. Probably from the unhealthy stuff I'd eaten. Pizza on our first day here, then breakfast the next morning, then the burger at school on Monday, then two pieces of toast with jam on Tuesday, then half a slice of school pizza on Wednesday, then some Milchkaffee yesterday. I let out a sigh. No wonder I've been feeling drained. All that coffee must be taking its toll on me, and not in the 'great' way.

I see Mother turn to face me out of the corner of my eye, her lips pursed. I turn slightly to face her, giving the blonde woman a questioning look. "What are you thinking about?" I question, her dark blue eyes checking her side mirrors. She suddenly turns left, though our neighborhood was straight ahead. "Was machst du?" I ask, "Home is the other way." She glances over at me for a brief moment before returning her focus to the road. "Was meinst du? We're going somewhere nice to eat." The words roll off her tongue casually, as if she were just talking about the weather. I raise an eyebrow. "Why? We have food at home," I say, looking around at the scenery. We've been here for almost a week, and I was trying to memorize the layout of the roads. I had a license and all, but I didn't really like driving. I preferred looking around at the houses and scenery, and sometimes even spacing out. My thoughts often seemed to take me away from reality, but driving required too much focus for me to get too deep in thought. So, I sat passenger, looking out the window 99% of the time.

She just hums, and we turn into the parking lot of a restaurant. It had a large blue sign with leaves painted on it, and there were four large lights above it. "What's this? We can just go somewhere and get something cheap." Mother just shakes her head at my words, parking the car in front of the building. "Meine Geliebte, sei ruhig! We're going here, and that's final," Mother shushes me, her tone calm, but firm. I bite my tongue, wanting to tell her to drive me home, but deciding against it. If she wished to eat greasy food, then she could. I was still a bit shaken up from our 'meal' at the airport, so I was hesitant of going out to eat here. School food wasn't as greasy as the food from the airport, but it was still bland and unappetizing. I was actually fine with the pizza we ordered our second night here, but that's because it's pizza! It could be dripping in oil and grease and I'd still eat it. Well, maybe not if it was dripping, but still. "Fine," I finally respond, sighing quietly to myself. Eating food wasn't the only problem. I just felt sick from school, and I feared that being in an area full of strangers would only worsen my headache. I follow Mother up to the doors, opening them for her before entering myself. 

The inside was breathtaking compared to the outside. The ceilings were tall and dark, and several lights illuminated the room. "Es ist schön, nicht?" I hear Mother murmur from beside me. "Yeah, it's really lovely," I agree, my eyes taking in the decor and tables. A woman in a black skirt and white long sleeve shirt greets us with a smile. "Hello! Table for two?" she asks cheerily. Mother returns the smile. "Yes please." The lady nods, grabbing two menus from the small stand beside her. "Will that be indoor or outdoor?" she asks. "Indoor, thanks." The barista nods, and leads us through the restaurant and to an empty table with two chairs. I mumble a thanks, and the woman sets down our menus, leaving us to look over them in peace. 

"Meine liebe, do you want a pizza? They have margherita. You can get a salad, too." I look over the menu, my lips twitching up in the ghost of a smile. "Ja, bitte. I'll take a caesar salad." Mother hums, "I think I'll have the greca. Tomatoes sound good right now." I laugh, and we stack our menus in the center of the table. The barista returns to our table a minute later, taking our order. 

"Can we get a margherita pizza, a caesar salad, and a greca salad?" Mother asks, the waitress nodding. She scribbles our orders down on her notepad, "What would you like to drink?" Mother turns to me, and I just nod. She turns back to the lady. "I'll have a glass of Prosecco, and he'll have a glass of sparkling water, if you offer it." Thank God for Mother. I could've ordered for myself, but I just feel drained. "Dank," I thank her, but she just waves her hand in dismissal. "Don't thank me Eddie. You just look tired. Your eye bags have gotten darker, too." My pale blue eyes look up to meet the sapphire gaze of Mother, but I can only stare for a few seconds before having to look away. "Have you been taking your medicines? The doctor said we could up your dose if you're still having problems," Mother trails off, her voice soft and caring like always. I nod, "Yeah, I take one of each every night. I think it might take a few more days for them to actually kick in," I respond, tracing the edge of the table with my index finger. I had been taking them ever since the local pharmacy finally got my prescriptions, and they did help me feel tired, but it usually took a few days for them to actually help me fall asleep. Mother hums in acknowledgement, and we spend the rest of our time waiting in silence.

After several minutes, I see our waitress return to our table with a tray full of food balancing on her hand. "Here you are," says the lady, placing the pizza in the middle of the table, long with our drinks. "Caesar salad?" she asks, and I lift my hand slightly. She smiles at me, setting down the bowl in front of me. She places the other salad down in front of Mother. "Today has been slow, so your guys' orders got put in faster. Please enjoy." I watch her walk away, waiting till she was out of sight before I started to talk. "You really didn't have to do this. I know you're first few paychecks are going to be small," I say, taking a sip of water afterwards. It was thankfully carbonated. She shrugs. "Eddie, you need to quit worrying about these things. We have plenty of money, we can afford these things." She takes a bite of her salad, a pleased look appearing on her pale face. "And the food is cheap. Eight dollars for the pizza, nine dollars for each salad, and my wine was only six," she continues to explain, helping to sooth my nerves a bit. I never actually worried about money, but I guess my mind is just trying to find reasons to complain. I was always cautious of not blowing money on useless things, especially food, but it wasn't that expensive, so I had no need to worry. We were fine, we've been fine for the past few months. I just need to focus on happy things.

We tuck into the pizza once our salad bowls were empty. I felt bloated, but the temptation of my favorite type of pizza was too much for me to bear. I start off with one slice, Mother grabbing two. We eat in silence, nothing but the clinking of silverware against our plates and the soft chatters of the rest of the customers filling the air. The pizza was delicious, making me glad that Mother chose this place. I manage to eat another whole slice of pizza before I feel too full to eat anymore. Our hostess returns to our table, placing our bill on the table. "Would you like a to-go box?" the woman asks politely, and I raise an eyebrow. I look to Mother, who just smiles and nods. "Yes, please." The lady nods, walking away from our table. "To-go boxes? Isn't that a bit weird?" I ask Mother, who just shrugs. "They have larger portions here, mein Liebling. We can have the rest tomorrow for lunch or dinner," explains Mother as she places money in the small black check presenter. I nod, looking down at the remaining half of the pizza. The waitress return with a large styrofoam container, and we leave the restaurant after placing the rest of our food in it.

The ride home is silent except for the slight sound of the radio. My eyes gaze out the passenger window, taking in the sight of building and tree silhouettes against the blackish blue sky. Mother was humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio, and the pleasant sound made me feel relaxed. 

By the time we got home it was 9:35. Mother gives me a peck on the cheek before heading upstairs to shower. I look around our home, letting out a long exhale. I still missed Frankfurt, even though it was just a plain old city. I grew up there and, as unpleasant as my past was, I still liked it there. I remove my combat boots, placing them by the doorway before heading upstairs to my room. There wasn't much to do, so I just decide to read a bit before I go to sleep. My hand reaches out for my nightstand, ready to pick up my book. I mumble a curse when I grasp nothing but air, and I remember that I left my book in my locker at school. Wunderbar. Just great. 

I let out yet another sigh as I stand up and head over to my dresser. Thankfully I had other books here. Reading was one of my favorite things, along with sewing and exercising. Boring, I am aware, but beneficial. What's the point in having a strong body when you have a weak mind? I look through them for a bit, finally deciding on The Shining. My hands touch the worn cover of the book, a soft smile on my face. Mother loved reading anything scary or mysterious, so most of the books we have are horror novels. I read for about two hours, finally deciding to try to go to sleep. I head into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and washing my face. My hand opens the medicine cabinet, and I reach in to grab my prescriptions. One of each, every night. Yet still I sometimes forget. I grab a paper cup, filling it a bit with water. I pop the two white pills in my mouth, bringing the cup to my lips. I lean my head back a bit to help it go down easier. I'm just glad that they took me off of my other two prescriptions. I hate taking pills. Thankfully the two I have to take aren't that big. Just Trazadone and Clonidine. They did have me on some medicine for my stomach and another anxiety med, but I no longer needed them. 

My footsteps are silent as I walk back into my room. I grab my book, deciding to continue reading until the medicine kicked in. My blue eyes scan the pages for nearly another hour before my eyelids start to get heavy, and I fall asleep, my book pressed against my chest.

~*~*~*~**~

 

After we'd rode around town (and a bit in the country. No one had anything to do, so we ended up wasting quite a few hours) for a while, we all finally headed home. It was dark by the time I dropped off Lisa, and I was glad her mom wasn't home to yell at us. The only people with actual caring parents are Miles and William, though Mr. Wernicke doesn't get upset at us if we're late or we wake him up. 

I was currently standing in front of my front door, key in hand. Mom and Dad never lock the doors, and the only real valuable thing we have is our TV, but I still locked the house up whenever I left. Not for Dad, not for our shitty TV that we've had for the past seven years, or even my gaming consoles. It was for Mom, even though she didn't notice or care. Despite all the trouble she's caused not only herself, but to me, my dad, her other kids, and her sister. No matter how many times she passes out, sleeps around, yells, cries, or even tries to end her life, I still love and care deeply for her. She's my mother, whether she likes it or not, acts like it or not, realizes it or not. She doesn't care for me, but I still do care for her.

My hand lowers, stuffing my key back into my pocket. I sit down, rubbing my hands over my eyes. All these years I've defended her and her actions, knowing she was only harming herself and those around her. And I still do. When my aunt or any other family member talks about her, I stand up. Even when my brothers would talk shit, tell me 'she's not worth it', I would still put up a fight. Why? Why do I care so much? Do I even care? Or is it all just out of pity, or the fact that I feel responsible for her. Do I defend her because I want to or because I have to?

Minutes pass by, the cool autumn breeze chilling my face and hands. I eventually stand up and unlock the door, stepping into my smoke scented house. I shut the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. My shoes don't make any sound on the carpet as I head to the kitchen, opening the freezer and reaching in. What does Dad have in here now? It was always a surprise. My hand feels around the dark freezer, my fingers wrapping around a sort of round bottle. Whiskey, perfect. I pull my hand out, closing the freezer as quietly as I could before heading to my room. 

My body falls back onto my bed, my back aching slightly from being on the motorcycle for so long. My eyes flutter shut, and I feel a small headache forming. Great, this evening is going so well. I roll on to my side, pressing the small bottle of Crown to my temple. Wish I could just up and leave like Dad, wherever the hell he is at the moment. At least he no longer tries to make excuses. It's one thing to be an idiot and be treated like one, but I'm not that dumb of a person. I have straight As and I know a lot about computers. Not much, but still. I wouldn't count playing the viola as a talent, but it does take some skill. My only other 'talents' would have to be how fast I can beat Ocarina of Time, and maybe how fast I can run. Childish things, but they don't make me an idiot. I'm just more into things I've been doing for a while. You start something you like, work with it for a few years, and it becomes a skill. Like with me and computers, or running. I used to race people a lot as a child, and now it's still with me. You pick up techniques and tricks, figure out some for yourself, and you become an 'expert' of sorts.

I sit up, opening my eyes. It was dark, I'd guess around eleven or so, but I was able to see faint outlines of things once my eyes adjusted to the dark. I open the bottle, taking a swig. I let the tingling burn run down my throat, letting out a small sigh. Thank God it's Friday, I guess. Friday I'm in love. I smile a bit at how lame I was. Sitting in the dark, drinking, thinking of old songs. I down a few more swigs, just wanting a bit of a buzz. I head back to the kitchen, filling the bottle back up with a bit of water before closing it and giving it a slight shake. A trick I'd picked up in my first year of high school. I place the bottle back in the freezer behind the frozen pizza boxes, shutting the door quietly once again.

I'm back in my room, taking off my shoes and clothes. I climb into bed, pulling the sheets up over my almost naked frame. My eyes close shut, my cheek resting against the pillow. The alcohol gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, helping me feel calm. I used to never want to drink after seeing what it did to Mom and Dad, and even my oldest brother, but the warmth and buzz were so pleasant. It was like getting a hug from the inside. As a kid I'd get hugs on holidays or whenever family would come to visit, but I still craved that safe warm feeling. Most of the time I seemed distant and not that emotional to others, but in reality I just wanted someone to hold me close and tell me that everything was going to be okay, even if things weren't going to get better. Someone to care, to take care of and look after me. Most of my life was just pleasing others, trying to help ease their pain. When will anyone look out for me? Not even my own parents care enough to ask me how my day was, or how I was feeling. Yes, they put food on the table, but aren't they supposed to do more? Miles' family has home cooked meals all the time, and they actually eat at a table together, as ridiculous as that sounds. They do everything together: shopping, eating, talking, camping, and those small vacations they go on throughout the year during school breaks. 

Lisa has it even worse than me. No dad, a barely there Mom who's big into drugs. I'm being selfish, ungrateful. Why am I so greedy? This is enough. I have a bed to sleep in, clothes on my back, food to eat, and entertainment. This is the dream. I get to go out late, do whatever the hell I want, and not get yelled at or even acknowledged. Shit, I could probably get a girl pregnant and my Dad wouldn't even bat an eye. Not that I would do that, but still.

A certain memory pops into my head. I've done a few reckless things in my past, none of them too major, but still. One time in middle school I pierced my own ear. I wanted a helix piercing, so I took a needle, some ice, and went to work. I still have it, it didn't get infected, but still. Normal needle, piercing myself, no experience whatsoever. My Dad didn't even realize until six months later. I snort a little, burying my face into the pillow. Hilarious. He simply asked one day, 'What's on your ear?'. My response? 'A piercing.' He didn't even change his expression, just said 'cool' and never brought it up again. 

After half an hour or so of thinking about random stuff from my past (and present worries), I finally feel myself grow tired. My body ached, my muscles tired and feeling strained. I as drained of energy. Exhausted, both mentally and physically. Funny how I barely do or put up with anything, yet I still manage to feel like shit. My mind drifts off, ready to fall into yet another dreamless sleep, clutching onto the last bit of warmth that I had from the whiskey. Before I went unconscious, I pictured the warmth as someone hugging me. I fall asleep, a ghost of a smile on my lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this was too short. Like I said, I haven't been having much time to type decent chapters >_< And yes, I did search up restaurants in boulder, so yeah, it took quiet some time to get information for this. I know I could just make something up, but I want this to be somewhat realistic (I know that probably sounds stupid since I'm not that great at writing and all, but still). Sorry if my German sucks, according to the app I use I'm only 33% fluent, and I've only been learning German for the past three months. I haven't gone back and edited any chapters yet, and I didn't edit this (obviously). There may be errors, and I apologize for that. I'll try to make the next chapter longer, though it will be another long wait most likely. Bye bye!


End file.
